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THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 



THE IRISH 
ON THE SOMME 



BEING THE SECOND SERIES OF 
"THE IRISH AT THE FRONT" 



By MICHAEL MacDONAGH 

Author of "Irish Life and Character" 



WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY 

JOHN REDMOND, M.P. 



HODDER AND STOUGHTON 

LONDON NEW YORK TORONTO 
MCMXVII 






TO 

THE MEMORY OF 

MAJOR WILLIAM REDMOND, M.P. 

ROYAL IRISH REGIMENT (IRISH BRIGADE) 

WHO DIED OF WOUNDS RECEIVED IN ACTION 

JUNE 7, 1917 

LEADING HIS MEN IN THE ATTACK 

ON WYTSCHAETE WOOD 






y* 






INTRODUCTION 

By John Redmond, M.P. 

THE RESPONSE OF THE IRISH RACE 

This war is a war of liberation, and its battle-cry is 
the rights and liberties of humanity. From the very 
beginning of the conflict my colleagues of the Irish 
Party, and I myself, have availed of every opportunity 
in Parliament, on the platform, and in the Press, to 
present this view of it to the Irish race at home and 
abroad; and despite the tragic mistakes made in 
regard to Ireland by the successive Governments 
which have held office since war broke out, we are 
still unshaken in our opinion that Ireland's highest 
interests lie in the speedy and overwhelming victory 
of England and the Allies. 

The response of the Irish race the world over to 
our appeal to rise in defence of civilisation and free- 
dom has been really wonderful. The example was 
set by Ireland herself. 

At the outbreak of the war I asked the Irish people, 
and especially the young men of Ireland, to mark the 
profound change which has been brought about in the 
relations of Ireland to the Empire by wholeheartedly 



INTRODUCTION 

supporting the Allies in the field. I pointed out that 
at long last, after centuries of misunderstanding, the 
democracy of Great Britain had finally and irrevocably 
decided to trust Ireland with self-government; and I 
called upon Ireland to prove that this concession of 
liberty would have the same effect in our country as 
it has had in every other portion of the Empire, and 
that henceforth Ireland would be a strength instead 
of a weakness. I further pointed out that the war was 
provoked by the intolerable military despotism of 
Germany, that it was a war in defence of small nation- 
alities, and that Ireland would be false to her own 
history and traditions, as well as to honour, good 
faith and self-interest, if she did not respond to my 
appeal. 

The answer to that appeal is one of the most 
astonishing facts in history. At the moment, fraught 
with the most terrible consequences to the whole 
Empire, this Kingdom found for the first time in the 
history of the relations between Great Britain and 
Ireland that the Irish Nationalist members, repre- 
senting the overwhelming mass of the people of 
Ireland, were enabled to declare themselves upon the 
side of England. They did that with their eyes 
open. They knew the difficulties in the way. They 
knew — none so well — the distrust and suspicion of 
British good faith which had been, in the past, uni- 
versal almost in Ireland. They recognised that the 
boon of self-government had not been finally granted 
to their country. They knew the traditional hostility 
which existed in many parts of Ireland to recruiting 



INTRODUCTION 

for the British Army. Facing all these things, and all 
the risks that they entailed, they told Ireland and her 
sons abroad that it was their duty to rally to the sup- 
port of the Allies in a war which was in defence of the 
principles of freedom and civilisation. We succeeded 
far better than we had anticipated, or hoped at the 
commencement. This is a notorious fact. There is 
genuine enthusiasm in Ireland on the side of the 
Allies. Addressing great popular gatherings in every 
province in Ireland in support of the Allies, I called 
for a distinctively Irish army, composed of Irishmen, 
led by Irishmen and trained at home in Ireland. With 
profound gratitude I acknowledge the magnificent 
response the country has made. For the first time in 
the history of the Wars of England there is a huge 
Irish army in the field. The achievements of that 
Irish army have covered Ireland with glory before the 
world, and have thrilled our hearts with pride. North 
and South have vied with each other in springing to 
arms, and, please God, the sacrifices they have made 
side by side on the field of battle will form the surest 
bond of a united Irish nation in the future. 

From Ireland, according to the latest official figures, 
173,772 Irishmen are serving in the Navy and Army, 
representing all classes and creeds amongst our people. 
Careful inquiries made through the churches in the 
north of England and Scotland and from other 
sources, show that, in addition, at least 150,000 sons 
of the Irish race, most of them born in Ireland, have 
joined the Colours in Great Britain . It is a pathetic cir- 
cumstance that these Irishmen in non-Irish regiments 



INTRODUCTION 

are almost forgotten, except when their names 
appear in the casualty lists. Some of the Irish papers 
have, for a considerable time past, been publishing 
special lists of killed and wounded under the heading, 
"Irish Casualties in British Regiments." One of 
these daily lists, taken quite haphazard, and published 
on November i, 1916, contains 225 names, all dis- 
tinctively Irish — O'Briens, O'Hanlons, Donovans, 
etc. These men were scattered amongst the following 
non-Irish regiments — 

Grenadier Guards. 

Coldstream Guards. 

Scots Guards. 

Welsh Guards. 

Royal Field Artillery. 

Royal Engineers. 

Royal Scots Fusiliers. 

The Black Watch. 

Northumberland Fusiliers. 

Yorkshire Regiment. 

East Yorks Regiment. 

Dorsetshire Regiment. 

Cheshire Regiment. 

York and Lancaster Regiment. 

Lancashire Fusiliers. 

King's Royal Rifles. 

London Regiment. 

Manchester Regiment. 

King's Liverpool Regiment. 

Loyal North Lancashire Regiment. 



INTRODUCTION 

Royal Warwickshire Regiment. 
Highland Light Infantry. 
Leicestershire Regiment. 
Worcestershire Regiment. 
Sherwood Foresters. 
King's Own Yorks Light Infantry. 
Border Regiment. 
Durham Light Infantry. 
Notts. & Derby Regiment. 
Machine Gun Corps. 
Army Service Corps. 
Army Cyclist Corps. 

As showing the extent to which Scottish regiments 
at the Front are made up of Irishmen, one newspaper 
quotes four hundred names from the casualty lists 
issued on four successive days one week. All the 
names are Irish, all the addresses are Scotch, and in 
only about twenty cases were the men enrolled in Irish 
regiments, all the others being attached to Scottish 
regiments. These sad records show the many thou- 
sands of Irishmen serving in non-Irish regiments 
who are never taken into account to the credit of 
Ireland, in estimating the part she is playing in this 
war, until they come to light in the casualty lists. 

In addition to these voluntary contributions of 
Ireland and her sons in Great Britain to the British 
Army, I am informed on the highest authority that 
from twenty to twenty-five per cent, of all the troops 
from the oversea Dominions are men of Irish blood. 
General Botha sent me this cablegram from South 

I B 



INTRODUCTION 

Africa : " I entirely endorse your view that this 
victory " — he is referring to his great defeat of the 
Germans in their colonies — "is the fruit of the policy 
of liberty and the recognition of national rights in 
this part of the Empire." General Botha had enor- 
mous difficulties to face, serious racial animosity, and 
bitter national memories. Does any fair-minded man 
think that General Botha could have overcome those 
difficulties as he did if the war had broken out just 
after the recognition of those national rights to which 
he referred and before they had come into operation ? 
The national rights of Ireland are recognised, but 
they have not yet come into operation. Yet it is true 
to say that the overwhelming sentiment of the Irish 
people is with the Empire for the first time. That 
fact is of incalculable value. Its influence has spread 
to every corner of the Empire. If the sentiment of 
the Irish people at home had not been with England 
in this war, the depressing and benumbing effect 
would have been felt everywhere in the self-governing 
Dominions. Ireland herself has made a splendid 
response, and the result has been that a wave of 
enthusiasm has stirred the hearts of men of Irish 
blood throughout the Empire. I received a New 
Year's card from the commanding officer and the 
other officers of a regiment raised in Vancouver, com- 
manded by Irishmen and composed of Irishmen. 
They call themselves " The Vancouver Irish Fusiliers." 
Then, not long since, in Cape Town, green flags were 
presented by General Botha's wife— a member of the 
historic Emmet family — to an Irish regiment raised 

2 



INTRODUCTION 

there. These facts constitute a striking result of the 
action we felt it our duty to take to bring feeling in 
Ireland in regard to the war into line with that of the 
rest of the Empire. Then there is that remarkable 
Irish battalion of the Canadian Expeditionary Force, 
the Irish Canadian Rangers, which is composed of 
Irish Catholics and Irish Protestants in equal num- 
bers, commanded by officers more than half of whom 
are Catholics and having a Catholic chaplain and a 
Protestant chaplain. This battalion, unique among 
the fighting units raised at home or abroad during the 
war, and a magnificent body of men, made a tour 
through the ancient motherland of their race in 
January 191 7 (on their way to the Front), and received 
in Dublin, Belfast, Cork and Limerick the most 
enthusiastic popular welcomes. 

Ireland is very proud of these sons of the Irish race 
who, in every part of the Empire, have followed the 
lead which she herself has given in rallying to the 
cause with which she has always sympathised and has 
always supported — the cause of right against might. 
The Irish race is represented in this war by at least 
half a million of men who have voluntarily joined 
the Colours. How gallantly they have fought this 
book, in part, relates. In his first series of The Irish 
at the Front Mr. MacDonagh deals with the achieve- 
ments of the Irish Guards and the Regular Irish 
regiments of the Line in Flanders and France in the 
earlier years of the war; the landing of the Munsters 
and Dublins of the immortal 29th Division at Beach 
V, Gallipoli; and the fighting of the 10th (Irish) 

3 



INTRODUCTION 

Division of the New Armies at Suvla Bay. The story 
of these glorious deeds sent a wave of emotion through 
the land. The King, addressing a battalion of the 
Irish Guards on St. Patricks Day, 1916, said — 

"On St. Patrick's Day, when Irishmen the world 
over unite to celebrate the memory of their Patron 
Saint, it gives me great pleasure to inspect the reserve 
battalion of my Irish Guards, and to testify my ap- 
preciation of the services rendered by the regiment 
in this war. ... I gratefully remember the heroic 
endurance of the 1st Battalion in the arduous retreat 
from Mons, again at Ypres on the critical November 
1 st, when, as Lord Cavan, your Brigadier, wrote, those 
who were left showed the enemy that Irish Guards 
must be reckoned with, however hard hit. After 
twenty-eight days of incessant fighting against heavy 
odds, the battalion came out of the line less than a 
company strong, with only four officers — a glorious 
tribute to Irish loyalty and endurance. ... In con- 
ferring the Victoria Cross on Lance-Corporal, now 
Lieutenant, Michael O'Leary, the first Irish Guards- 
man to win this coveted distinction, I was proud to 
honour a deed that, in its fearless contempt of death, 
illustrates the spirit of my Irish Guards. At Loos the 
2nd Battalion received its baptism of fire and con- 
firmed the high reputation already won by the 1st 
Battalion." 

The Daily Telegraph (London), writing on March 
18, 1 9 16, said — 

4 



INTRODUCTION 

"There is one key to the soul of Ireland — the word 
* freedom.' It was realised instantly that this was no 
dynastic war on the part of the Allies, no struggle for 
material ends, but a life and death conflict for liberty 
of thought and action. Once the issue was exposed, 
Irishmen, with all the white heat which injustice 
inspires in their breasts, threw themselves into the 
battle. The enemy has since felt Irish steel and fallen 
under Irish bullets. Whatever the future may have 
in store, the British people will never forget the gener- 
ous blood of the sister nation, which has been shed 
on so many hard-fought battlefields since the world- 
war began." 

In this, the second series of The Irish at the Front, 
the thrilling story is continued. The Irish troops 
dealt with are all of the New Armies— the Ulster 
Division, the Irish Division and the Tyneside Irish 
Brigade. I am as proud of the Ulster regiments as 
I am of the Nationalist regiments. I do not want 
to boast of their valour. We Irishmen are inclined 
to take it as a matter of course. These Irish regi- 
ments, Unionist and Nationalist, merely keep up the 
tradition of our race. But I say that Lord Kitchener's 
words remain true — the words that he wrote to the 
Viceregal Recruiting Conference in Dublin in 191 5, 
when he said that in the matter of recruiting, "Ire- 
land's performance has been magnificent." Let me 
ask any fair-minded man this question : If five years 
ago any one had predicted that in a great war in 
which the Empire was engaged 173,772 men would 

5 



INTRODUCTION 

have been raised from Ireland, and that there would 
be more than half a million Irishmen with the 
Colours, would he not have been looked upon as a 
lunatic? It is the free offering of Ireland. Surely 
it must be regarded as a proud and astonishing 
record ! 

J. E. Redmond. 



PREFACE 

This narrative is concerned chiefly with the three 
distinctively Irish units of the New Armies engaged 
on the Western Front — the Ulster Division, the Irish 
Division (representative of the south and west), and 
the "Tyneside Irish," in which Irishmen living in the 
north of England enlisted. It also deals incidentally 
with the Irish Regular regiments of the Line, and 
with that numerous body of Irishmen serving in 
English, Scottish and Welsh battalions and in the 
Anzacs and Canadians. 

The first series of The Irish at the Front covers^ 
first, the fighting of the Irish regiments of the Regular 
Army in France, Flanders and the Dardanelles during 
the early stages of the war; and, secondly, the opera- 
tions of the ioth (Irish) Division — composed entirely 
of "Kitchener's men" — against the Turks at GallipolL 
The latter, an exceptionally fine body of young Irish- 
men, gallantly fought and fell — as the story discloses 
— in that expedition, so ill-fated and yet so romantic, 
though they had never handled a rifle or done a day's 
drill before the war. In this series we see Irishmen 
of the same type matched against the Germans in 
France. As we know, Germany confidently expected 
that such levies, hastily raised and insufficiently 
trained, would break in pieces at the first encounter 

7 



PREFACE 

with her seasoned troops. But it was the formidable 
German lines that were broken, and they were broken 
by these very raw levies at the bayonet's point. 

For the telling of the Irish part in the story of the 
Somme I am much indebted to the assistance given 
by officers and men of the Irish battalions engaged in 
that mighty battle. But the Irish soldiers are not 
only " splendid fighting material " — a rather non- 
human phrase now much in vogue, as if the only 
thing that matters in warfare is the physical capacity 
of man — they have souls and minds and hearts, as 
well as strong right hands, and of these also some- 
thing is said in this book. 

Michael MacDonagh. 



CONTENTS 

Introduction by John Redmond, M.P. 
Preface 



CHAP. 

I. — In the Trenches with the Connaught 

Rangers n 

Scenes Comic and Tragic 

II. — Exploits of the Ulster Division .... 24 
Belfast's Tribute to the Dead 

III. — Ulsters' Attack on the Slopes of Thiepval. 32 
" Not a man turned to come back, not one " 

IV. — Four Victoria Crosses to the Ulster Division 47 
Brilliant Additions to the Record of Irish Valour 
and Romance 

V. — COMBATIVENESS OF THE IRISH SOLDIER ... 56 

The British Blends of Courage 

VI. — With the Tyneside Irish 67 

Over the Heights of La Boiselle, through Bailiff's 
Wood to Contalmaison 

VII.— The Wearing of Religious Emblems at the 

Front 84 

Spread of the Example set by Irish Soldiers 

VIII.— The Irish Soldier's Humour and Seriousness 104 
Stories from the Front, Funny and Otherwise 

9 B 2 



CONTENTS 

CHAP. PAGE 

IX. — The Irish Brigade 118 

" Everywhere and Always Faithful " 

X. — Irish Replies to German Wiles and Poison 

Gas 128 

How the Munsters captured the Enemy's 
wheedling Placards 

XI.— Storming of Guillamont by the Irish Brigade 138 
Raising the Green Flag in the Centre of the 
Village 

XII.— The Brigade's Pounce on Guinchy .... 146 
Gallant Boy Officers of the Dublin Fusiliers 

XIIL— Honours and Distinctions for the Irish 

Brigade 152 

How Lieut. Holland of the Leinsters won the V.C. 

XIV.— The Wooden Cross 158 

Death of Lieut. T. M. Kettle of the Dublins 

XV.— More Irish Heroes of the Victoria Cross . 165 
Deeds of the Highest Merit and Lustre 

XVI. — Relations between Enemy Trenches . . . 182 
Irish Kindliness and German Guile 



CHAPTER I 

IN THE TRENCHES WITH THE 
CONNAUGHT RANGERS 

SCENES COMIC AND TRAGIC 

"The men are as anxious for the road, sir, as if 
'twere to Galway races they were going, no less, or 
to Ballinasloe Fair," said the company sergeant-major 
to the captain. Those referred to belonged to a bat- 
talion of the Connaught Rangers ordered to the firing- 
trenches for the first time. "The real thing at last;" 
"The genuine McCoy, and no mistake," they said to 
one another as, in preparation for the march, they 
hurriedly packed their things in the barns and cow- 
sheds that served as billets, and, to provide further 
vent for their jubilation, danced Irish jigs and reels 
and sang national songs. 

These Irishmen had read a lot about the fighting, 
and had heard a great deal more, but they felt that 
print and talk, however graphic and copious, left many 
strange things to be disclosed by the actual experi- 
ence. Some of them would "get the beck" — the call 
from Death — but what matter? Were not soldiers 
who died in action to be envied, rather than pitied, by 
those who found themselves alive when the war was 
over, and had not been to the mysterious Front at all ? 
So they thought and said, and now that they were on 
the road there was a look of proud elation on their 
faces, as though they had been singled out by special 



12 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

favour for a grand adventure. They did not regard 
themselves in the least as heroes, these entirely un- 
sophisticated men, without a trace of self-consciousness. 
They had volunteered for service in the belief that 
Ireland would be false to her historical self if she did 
not take part in this war for freedom, democracy and 
humanity. But now there was nothing in their minds 
about revenging the wrongs of Belgium, or driving 
the invader from the soil of France, or even of saving 
the British Empire. It was the fight that was the 
thing. It was the chance of having a smack at "the 
Gerrys " — as the enemy is called by the Irish soldiers 
— that they prized. More exalted feelings would come 
again when the battle was over and won. Then, and 
not till then, as they return with many gaps in their 
ranks, do Irish troops see themselves as an army of 
redemption and deliverance; and the only land they 
think of having saved is Ireland. To them Ireland 
personifies all the great causes of the war, and a blow 
struck for these causes, no matter where, is a blow 
struck for her. 

By the light of many stars sparkling in the sky that 
dark October night the men could see signs that 
battles had been fought in the country they were 
traversing. It was a devastated bare expanse, stretch- 
ing for miles and miles, very muddy and broken up 
with shell holes. Roads had been made across it, 
and along one of these the battalion went in the wake 
of the guides with swinging lanterns. The men were 
fully loaded. In addition to his fighting equipment, 
almost every one carried something extra, such as a 
pick or shovel, a bag of rations, or a bundle of fire- 
wood. The company officers also had heavy packs 
strapped on their shoulders. Great good-humour 
prevailed. Whenever, at awkward turns of the road, 
or at very dark points, progress was interrupted, those 
in front would shout some preposterous explanation 



IN THE TRENCHES 13 

of the delay to their comrades behind. "Begonnies, 
boys, we're taking tickets here for Galway. Word 
has come down that the war is over," cried one joker. 
Deep groans of pretended dismay and disappointment 
rose from the rear ranks. "And poor me, without a 
German helmet, or even a black eye, to show that I 
was in it," was one of the responses. 

When the open plain was quitted the battalion dis- 
appeared into a trench like a narrow country lane 
winding between high banks. It was much darker 
in these deeps than it had been outside. The gloom 
was broken occasionally by the light of lanterns 
carried by sentinels, or electric torches at junctions 
where several trenches crossed. Soon the trench 
became narrower and more tortuous. It also became 
more soaked with rain. Pools of water were fre- 
quently encountered. The battalion was now a 
floundering, staggering, overloaded and perspiring 
closely packed mass of men, walking in couples or in 
single file and treading on each other's heels. 

The mishaps arising from this crowded scramble 
in the dark through mud and mire, between banks 
of unsupported crumbling earth, did not exhaust 
the Irish cheerfulness of the battalion. There was 
laughter when a man got a crack on the skull from 
a rifle which a comrade carried swung across his 
shoulder. There was louder laughter still when 
another, stooping to pick up something he had 
dropped, was bumped into from behind and sent 
sprawling. So sucking and tenacious was the mud 
that frequently each dragging footstep called for quite 
a physical effort, and a man was thankful that he did 
not have to leave a boot behind. "Ah, sure this is 
nothin' to the bog away in Connemara, where I often 
sunk up to me neck when crossing it to cut turf," was 
the comfort imparted in a soft brogue. "True for 
you, Tim," remarked another. "It's an ould sayin' 



i 4 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

and a true one that there's nothin' so bad but it could 
be worse." 

The trench certainly proved the truth of the saying. 
Bad as it had been, it sank to a still lower degree of 
slush. There were deep holes filled with water into 
which the men went with an abrupt plunge and 
passed through with much splashing. Just ahead of 
one of these particularly treacherous points singing 
was heard. The chorus was taken up by many 
voices, and its last line was rapped out with hearty 
boisterousness — 

" Out and make way for the bould Fenian Men." 

This joyous noise heralded the appearance of a party 
of the Dublin Fusiliers, belonging to the same 
Division, who were coming down the trench. By the 
light of lanterns and lamps it was seen that they had 
taken off their trousers and socks and, holding up 
their shirts, were wading in their boots blithely 
through the pools, like girls in bare legs and. lifted 
petticoats paddling at the seaside. 

The Connaught men laughed hilariously. "Sure 
the Dublin jackeens have never been beaten yet for 
cuteness," they cried. "They stripped to their pelts 
so as they wouldn't get the 'fluensy by means of their 
wet clothes. And, faix, 'twould be the greatest pity- 
in the world anything would ail stout and hearty boys 
like them." As they spoke, the men of the west lay 
close against the embankments to let the men of the 
east go by. But weren't the Dublins in the divil of 
a hurry back to billets? the Rangers went on to 
remark. And why not ? answered the Dublins. Sure 
if they'd only sniff with their noses they would smell 
the roast beef and the steaming punch that were 
being got ready for them by special orders of Field- 
Marshal Haig for the great things they did away 



IN THE TRENCHES 15 

up in the firing-line. "Lucky boys!" shouted the 
Rangers, responding to the joke. "And tell us now, 
have ye left us a Gerry at all alive to get a pelt at, 
and we new at the game ? " A Dublin man gave the 
reply as he went past. "To tell ye the truth, except 
there's a raid, there isn't much divarshion in the way 
of fighting ; but every man of ye will have his full and 
plenty of mud and water before he's much oulder." 
"Well, there's nothing in that to yowl about." 
"Maybe not, if you can swim." The trench resounded 
with laughter at the exchange of banter. But for fear 
any of the Rangers might take some of the talk as 
half a joke and whole earnest, a kind-hearted sergeant 
of the Dublins, wishful to say the cheery word, called 
out, "Don't mind them playboys; there's no more 
water and mud in it than is natural in such wet 
weather as we're getting." 

The Rangers reached their destination just as the 
day was dawning in a cold drizzle from a grey, 
lowering sky. They were all plastered with yellowish 
mud. Mud was on their hands, on their faces, in 
their hair, down their backs; and the barrels of their 
rifles were choked with mud. For the next four days 
and nights of duty in the trenches they were to be 
lapped about with mud. War was to be for them a 
mixture of mud and high explosives. Of the two 
mud was the ugliest and most hateful. Soon they 
would come to think that there was hardly anything 
left in the world but mud; and from that they would 
advance to a state of mind in which they doubted 
whether there ever had been a time in their existence 
when they were free from mud. But through it all 
this battalion, like the others in the Division, pre- 
served their good-humour. They are known, in fact, 
as "The Light-Hearted Brigade." Every difficulty I 
was met with a will to overcome it, tempered with a 
joke and a laugh. No matter how encrusted with 



16 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

filth their bodies might be, their souls were always 
above contamination. 

Men off duty at night slept in shelter pits dug deep 
into the soil by the side of the trenches. It was over- 
crowded in stark violation of all the sanitary by-laws 
relating to ventilation in civil life. No time was 
wasted in undressing. The men lay down fully clad 
in their mud-crusted clothes, even to their boots, 
wrapped round in blankets. During the night they 
were awakened by a loud explosion. "All right, 
boys; don't stir," cried the sergeant. "It's only one 
of those chape German alarum clocks going off at the 
wrong time. Get off to sleep again, me heroes." In 
the morning more time was saved by getting up fully 
dressed, and not having to wash or to shave, so as to 
spare the water. A private, looking round the dug- 
out and noticing the absence of windows, remarked, 
"Faix, those of us who are glaziers and window- 
cleaners will find it hard to make a living in this 
country." 

As the battalion was new to the trenches, another 
Irish battalion of more experience shared with them 
the holding of this particular line. To a group of 
lads gathered about a brazier of glowing coke in a 
sheltered traverse an old sergeant that had seen service 
in the Regular Army was giving what, no doubt, he 
thought was sound and valuable advice, but which 
was at times of a quality calculated more to disturb, 
perhaps, than to reassure. 

"Bullets are nothin' at all," said he. "I wouldn't 
give you a snap of me fingers for them. Listen to 
them now, flyin' about and whinin' and whimperin' 
as if they wor lost, stolen or strayed, and wor lookin' 
for a billet to rest in. They differ greatly, do these 
bullets; but sure in time you'll larn them all by sound 
and be able to tell the humour each one of them is in. 
There's only one kind of bullet, boys, that you'll 



IN THE TRENCHES 17 

never hear; and that is the one which gives you such 
a pelt as to send you home to Ireland or to kingdom 
come. But," he continued, "what'll put the fear of 
God into your sowls, if it isn't there already, is the 
heavy metal which the Gerrys pitch across to us in 
exchange for ours. The first time I was up here I 
was beside a man whose teeth went chatterin' in a way 
that put me in fear of me life. Sure, didn't I think 
for a minute it was a Gerry machine-gun — may the 
divil cripple them ! — startin' its bloody work at me 
ear. Now, there must be none of that in this trench. 
If you're afraid, don't show it; remimber always that 
the Gerrys are in just as great a fright, if not more so. 
Show your spunk. Stand fast or sit tight, and hope 
for the best. Above all, clinch your teeth." 

The bombardment of a trench by shells from guns 
in the rear of the enemy's lines, or by bombs thrown 
from mortars close at hand, is probably the greatest 
test of endurance that has ever been set to humanity. 
The devastating effect is terrific. At each explosion 
men may be blown to pieces or buried alive. Even 
the concussion often kills. A man might escape being 
hit by the flying projectiles and yet be blinded or 
made deaf or deprived of his speech by the shock. 
All teel as if their insides had collapsed. The suspense 
of waiting for the next shell or bomb, the uncertainty 
as to where it is going to fall, followed by the shake 
which the detonation gives the nervous system, are 
enough to wear out the most stout-hearted of soldiers. 
It is then that companionship and discipline tell. The 
men catch from one another the won't-appear-fright- 
ened determination, and the spirit of won't-give-in. 

Crash ! A fierce gust of wind sweeps through the 
trench. Men are lifted from their feet and flung 
violently to the ground amid showers of earth and 
stones. There is a brief pause; and then is heard 
the most unexpected of sounds — not the moaning of 



18 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

pain, but a burst of laughter ! Four men of the bat- 
talion were playing " Forty-five," a card game beloved 
of Hibernians, seated under a piece of tarpaulin 
propped up on poles, as much at their ease as if they 
lay under a hedge on a Sunday evening in summer 
at home in Ireland, with only the priest to fear, and he 
known to be on a sick call at the other side of the 
parish. The bomb came at the most inopportune 
moment, just as the fall of the trick was about to be 
decided. When the card party recovered their senses, 
the man who held the winning card was found to be 
wounded, " 'Twas the Gerrys — sweet bad luck to 
them ! — that jinked the game that time, boys," he 
exclaimed. His companions, standing round him, 
burst into laughter at the remark. 

Merriment is not uncommon as the shells are burst- 
ing. The spectacle of four or five men hurriedly 
tumbling for shelter into the same "funk hole," a wild 
whirl of arms and legs, has its absurd side and never 
fails to excite amusement. The way in which men 
disentangle themselves from the ruins caused by the 
explosion is often also grotesque. Racy oddities of 
character are revealed. One man was buried in the 
loose earth. His comrades hastened to rescue him, 
and to cheer him up told him he would be got out 
next to no time, for Tim Maloney, the biggest as well 
as the fastest digger in the company was engaged on 
the job. "I feel that right well," cried the victim, as 
he spluttered the mud from his mouth. "But I've 
enough on top of me without him ! Pull me out of 
this from under his feet." There was an explosion 
close to a man at work repairing the trench. The 
man was overheard saying to himself, as he turned 
his back disdainfully to the shell, "Oh, go to blazes, 
with yez." 

But it is not all comedy and farce. How could it 
be with stern, black-visaged Death always watching 



IN THE TRENCHES 19 

with wolfish eyes to see men die? Fate plays un- 
imaginable tricks with its victims. A bullet stops 
many a casual conversation for ever. "Look at 
this ! " cries a man, holding up his cap for a comrade 
to see the bullet-hole that had just been made through 
it. "A close shave," he adds; "but what matter? 
Isn't a miss as good as a mile?" And, as he was 
putting the cap on again, he fell a corpse to a surer 
bullet. There he lay, just a bundle of muddy khaki ; 
and a dozing comrade, upon whom he dropped, 
elbowed him aside, saying impatiently, "Get out of 
that, with yer andrew-martins " (jokes and tricks) ; 
"can't you let a poor divil get a wink of sleep?" 
Tragedy takes on, at times, queer, fantastic shapes. 
A man has his right arm blown off close to the 
shoulder. He picks the limb up with his left hand, 
shouting, "My arm! my arm! Oh, holy mother of 
God, where's my arm ? " In raging agony he rushes 
shrieking down the trench carrying the limb with 
him until he encounters his company officer. "Oh, 
captain, darlin'," he cries. "Look what the Gerrys 
have done to me ! May God's curse light upon them 
and theirs for ever ! An' now I'll never shoulder a 
rifle for poor ould Ireland any more." 

The night, and only the night, has terrors for the 
Irish soldiers, especially those from the misty moun- 
tains and remote seaboard of the west and south. 
In the daylight they are merry and prolific of jest. 
Strongly gregarious by instinct, they delight in com- 
panionship. They are sustained and upheld by the 
excitement of battle's uproar. They will face any 
danger in the broad daylight. But they hate to be 
alone in the dark anywhere, and are afraid to pass at 
night even a graveyard in which their own beloved 
kith and kin lie peacefully at rest for ever. They 
feel "lonesome and queer" as they would say 
themselves. 



20 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

So it is that when by himself at a listening post in 
a shell hole in No Man's Land, lapped about with 
intense blackness, peering and hearkening, the super- 
stitious soul of the Irish soldier seems to conjure up 
all the departed spectral bogies and terrors of the Dark 
Ages. He is ready to cry out like Ajax, the Greek 
warrior, in "Homer," "Give us but light, O Jove; 
and in the light, if thou seest fit, destroy us." 

Even a Cockney soldier, lacking as he is in any 
subtle sympathy with the emotional and immaterial 
sides of life, confesses that it gives him the creeps 
proper to be out there in the open jaws of darkness, 
away from his mates and almost right under the nose 
of old Boche. An Irish soldier will admit that on 
this duty he does have a genuine feeling of terror. 
Crouching in the soft, yielding earth, he imagines he 
is in the grave, watching and waiting he knows not 
for what. Everything is indefinite and uncertain. 
There is a vague presentiment that some unknown 
but awful evil is impending. Perhaps a thousand 
hostile German eyes are staring at him through the 
darkness along rifle barrels ; or, more horrible still, 
perhaps a thousand invisible devils are on the prowl 
to drag his soul to hell. The supernatural powers 
are the only forces the Irish soldier fears. 

The senses of the sentry are so abnormally alert 
that if grass were growing near him he had only to 
put his ear to the ground to hear the stirring of the 
sap. But though he listens intently, not a sound 
comes out of the blackness. He regards the profound 
stillness as confirmation of his worst fears. All is 
silence in the trench behind him, where his comrades 
ought to be. He would welcome the relief of voices 
and the sound of feet in the enemy's lines. But the 
Gerrys give no sign of life. Is he alone in the whole 
wide world, the solitary survivor of this terrible war? 
What would he not part with to be able to get up and 



IN THE TRENCHES 21 

run ! But he is fixed to his post by a sense of duty, 
just as strong as if he were chained there by iron 
bands. To cry out would afford immense relief to his 
overwrought feelings. But his tongue seems para- 
lysed in his mouth. Then he bethinks him of his 
prayers. From his inside tunic pocket he takes out 
his beads — which his mother gave him at parting and 
made him promise faithfully always to carry about 
his person — and, making the sign of the cross, he is 
soon absorbed in the saying of the Rosary. Resigna- 
tion and fortitude came to his aid. The invisible evil 
agencies by which he had really been encompassed — 
loneliness, anxiety, melancholy — are dispelled. 

Scouting is the night work that appeals most to the 
Irish soldiers. There is in it the excitement of move- 
ment, the element of adventure and the support of 
companionship, too, for four, five or six go out to- 
gether. Oh, the fearful joy of crawling on one's 
stomach across the intervening ground, seeking for 
a passage through the enemy's wire entanglements 
or wriggling under it, taking a peep over their 
parapets, dropping down into a sparsely occupied 
part of the trench, braining the sentry and returning 
with rifle and cap as trophies ! This is one of the 
most perilous forms of the harassing tactics of war, 
and for its success uncommon pluck and resource are 
required. Yet, like everything else at the Front, it 
often has an absurd side. A Connaught Ranger, 
back from, such an expedition, related that, hearing 
the Gerrys talking, he called out, "How many of ye 
are there ? " To his surprise he got an answer in 
English: "Four." Then, throwing in a bomb, he 
said, "Divide that between ye, an' be damned to ye." 
"Faix, 'twas the bomb that divided them," he added, 
"for didn't they come out of the trench after me in 
smithereens." Another party returned from a raid 
with tears streaming down their cheeks. "Is it bad 



22 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

news ye bring, crying in that way? " they were asked. 
No ! they hadn't bad news; nor were they crying. If 
it was crying they were, wouldn't they be roaring 
and bawling ? and there wasn't a sound out of them 
for any one to hear. Only asses could say such a 
thing as that. 'Twas they that looked like silly asses, 
they were told, with the tears pouring out of their 
eyes like the Powerscourt waterfall. What the mis- 
chief was the matter with them, anyway? Well, 
then, if any one cared to know, was the reply, 'twas 
the Gerrys that treated them to a whiff of lachrymose 
gas! 

The fatigue, the disgust, and the danger of life in 
the trenches are, at times, stronger than any other 
impulse, whether of the flesh or of the soul. "'Tis 
enough to drive one to the drink : a grand complaint 
when there's plenty of porter about," said a private; 
"but a terrible fate when there's only the water we're 
wading in, and that same full up — the Lord save 
us! — of creeping and wriggling things." "True for 
you ; it's the quare life, and no mistake," remarked 
another. "You do things and get praise for them, 
such as smashing a fellow's skull, or putting a bullet 
through him, which if you were to do at home you'd 
be soon on the run, with a hue and cry and all the 
police of the country at your heels." 

Back in billets again, for a wash and a shave and a 
brush up, and lying in their straw beds in the barns, 
the Rangers would thus philosophise on their life. 
The bestial side of it — the terrible overcrowding of the 
men, the muck, the vermin, the gobbling of food with 
filthy hands, the stench of corrupting bodies lying in 
the open, or insufficiently buried, and, along with all 
that, its terror, agony and tragedy are, indeed, utterly 
repellent to human nature. Still, there was general 
agreement that they had never spent a week of such 
strange and exquisite experiences, Fear there was at 



IN THE TRENCHES 23 

times, but it seemed rather to keep up a state of 
pleasurable emotion than to generate anguish and dis- 
tress. Certainly most Connaught Rangers will swear 
that life in the trenches has at least three thrilling and 
exalting moments. One is when the tot of rum is 
served round. Another is the first faint appearance 
of light in the sky behind the enemy's lines, proclaim- 
ing that the night is far spent and the day is at hand. 
The third is the call to "stand to," telling that a visit 
from the Gerrys is expected, when the men cease to be 
navvies and become soldiers again — throwing aside 
the hateful pick and shovel and taking up the beloved 
rifle and bayonet. 



CHAPTER II 
EXPLOITS OF THE ULSTER DIVISION 



" I am not an Ulsterman, but as I followed the amazing 
attack of the Ulster Division on July i, I felt that I would 
rather be an Ulsterman than anything else in the world. With 
shouts of ' Remember the Boyne ' and ' No Surrender, boys,' 
they threw themselves at the Germans, and before they could 
be restrained had penetrated to the enemy fifth line. The 
attack was one of the greatest revelations of human courage 
and endurance known in history." — A British officer on the 
exploits of the Ulster Division, July i, 1916. 

One of the most striking and impressive tributes 
ever paid to the heroic dead was that of Belfast on the 
1 2th of July, 1916, in memory of the men of the Ulster 
Division who fell on the opening day of that month 
in the great British offensive on the Somme. For five 
minutes following the hour of noon all work and 
movement, business and household, were entirely sus- 
pended. In the flax mills, the linen factories, the ship 
yards, the munition workshops, men and women 
paused in their labours. All machinery was stopped, 
and the huge hammers became silent. In shop and 
office business ceased; at home the housewife inter- 
rupted her round of duties; in the streets traffic was 
brought to a halt, on the local railways the running 
trains pulled up. The whole population stood still, 
and in deep silence, with bowed heads but with up- 
lifted hearts, turned their thoughts to the valleys and 

24 



EXPLOITS OF THE ULSTER DIVISION 25 

slopes of Picardy, where on July 1 the young men of 
Ulster, the pride and flower of the province, gave their 
lives for the preservation of the British Empire, the 
existence of separate and independent States, and the 
rule of law and justice in their international relations. 
"The Twelfth " is the great festival of Belfast. On 
that day is celebrated the Williamite victories of the 
Boyne, July 1, and Aughrim, July 12, 1690, in which 
the cause of the Stuarts went down for ever. It is 
kept as a general holiday of rejoicing and merry- 
making. The members of the Orange lodges turn 
out with their dazzling banners and their no less 
gorgeous yellow, crimson and blue regalia; and the 
streets resound with the lilt of fifes, the piercing notes 
of cornets, the boom and rattle of many drums, the 
tramp of marching feet and the cheers of innumerable 
spectators. There was no such demonstration on 
July 12, 1916. For the first time in the history of the 
Orange Institution the observance of the anniversary 
was voluntarily abandoned, so that there might be no 
stoppage of war work in the ship yards and munition 
factories. But at the happy suggestion of the Lord 
Mayor (Sir Crawford McCullagh), five minutes of the 
day were given reverently to lofty sorrow for the dead, 
who, by adding "The Ancre," "Beaumont Hamel " 
and "Thiepval Wood" to "Deny," "Enniskillen," 
"The Boyne" and "Aughrim" on the banners of 
Ulster, have given a new meaning and glory to the 
celebration of "The Twelfth " in which all Ireland can 
share. Major-General O. S. W. Nugent, D.S.O., 
commanding the Ulster Division, in a special Order 
of the Day, issued after the advance, wrote — 

" Nothing finer has been done in the War. 

" The Division has been highly tried and has emerged from 
the ordeal with unstained honour, having fulfilled in every 
part the great expectations formed of it. 

" None but troops of the best quality could have faced the 



26 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

fire which was brought to bear on them, and the losses suffered 
during the advance. 

" A magnificent example of sublime courage and discipline." 

This glory was gained at a heavy cost. There was 
cause for bitter grief as well as the thrill of pride in 
Ulster. Nothing has brought home more poignantly 
to the inhabitants of a small area of the kingdom the 
grim sacrifices and the unutterable pathos of the war 
than the many pages of names and addresses of the 
dead and wounded — relatives, friends and acquaint- 
ances — which appeared in the Belfast newspapers for 
days before "The Twelfth" and after. So blinds 
were drawn in business and private houses ; flags were 
flown at half-mast; and bells were mournfully tolling 
for Ulster's irremediable losses when, at the stroke of 
twelve o'clock, traffic came instantaneously to a stand- 
still, and for five minutes the citizens solemnly stood 
with bared heads in the teeming rain thinking of the 
gallant dead, the darkened homes and the inconsolable 
mothers and wives. 

The Ulster Division possesses an individuality all 
its own. It has no like or equal among the units of 
the British Army on account of its family character; 
the close and intimate blood relationship of its mem- 
bers; its singleness of purpose; the common appeal 
of racial, political and religious ideals that binds it 
together by stronger links than steel. The United 
Kingdom, as a whole, may be said to have been 
totally unready when war broke out. But it happened 
that one small section of this industrial and peace- 
loving community was prepared, to some extent, for 
the mighty emergency. That was Ulster. It was 
immersed in business at the time, just as much as 
Manchester or Sheffield, and in making money out of 
its flourishing prosperity. But, unlike those English 
industrial centres, Ulster had in its history and tradi- 
tions an influence which bred a combative disposition, 



EXPLOITS OF THE ULSTER DIVISION 27 

and ever kept burning a martial flame, even in its 
marts and workshops. The community was con- 
vinced that in defence of all they hold dearest in 
religious beliefs and political principles they might 
have some day, not, as in England when opinions are 
at stake, to flock to the polling stations at a General 
Election, but take to the field and fight. The very 
pick of the manhood of the province joined the Ulster 
Volunteer Force, and armed and trained themselves 
as soldiers. So it was that in the years immediately 
preceding the war it seemed almost certain they would 
have to follow the example of their forefathers 
centuries before and raise the Orange flag at Ennis- 
killen and Derry. Then came the challenge of Ger- 
many to British ideals. The aim and purpose of the 
Ulster Volunteer Force remained the same, as the 
members conceived it, but it was turned into a wholly 
unexpected channel. By an astounding transforma- 
tion of events they were to bleed and give their lives 
for all they revere and cherish, not in Ulster but on 
the hills and in the woods of Picardy. 

The Ulster Division is entirely Protestant and 
Unionist; or was, until it was decimated on the 
Somme. It was formed out of the men who had 
previously bound themselves together by a solemn 
covenant, signed on "Ulster Day," Saturday, Sep- 
tember 28, 1912, to stand by one another in defending, 
for themselves and their children, their cherished civil 
and religious heritage, should Home Rule be estab- 
lished. Thus the Division is unparalleled for its kind 
since Cromwell's "Ironsides" in enlisting stern reli- 
gious fervour and political enthusiasm in a fighting 
phalanx. It consists of twelve battalions forming 
three brigades. It is wholly Irish. Nine of the bat- 
talions have the regimental title of Royal Irish Rifles. 
The other battalions have the titles of the Royaf 
Inniskilling Fusiliers and the Royal Irish Fusiliers, 



28 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

the two other regiments of the Line associated with 
Ulster. The battalions have also territorial classifica- 
tions denoting their origin from the Ulster Volunteer 
Force, such as "North Belfast Volunteers"; "East 
Belfast Volunteers"; "Young Citizen Volunteers"; 
"South Belfast Volunteers"; "West Belfast Volun- 
teers"; "South Antrim Volunteers"; "Down Volun- 
teers"; "County Armagh Volunteers"; "Central 
Antrim Volunteers"; "Tyrone Volunteers"; "Done- 
gal and Fermanagh Volunteers"; "Deny Volun- 
teers." It has its own Engineers, Army Service 
Corps, Army Medical Corps and a complete Ambu- 
lance equipment. There are also reserve battalions. 
In the pleasant surroundings of the Botanic Gardens, 
Belfast, a splendid hospital was established for the 
care of the wounded, and the provision of artificial 
limbs to those who might need them ; and as evidence 
of the characteristic thoroughness with which every- 
thing was attended to, a fund has been raised to assist 
members of the Division who may be left maimed and 
broken in health, and to support the dependents of the 
fallen, outside any aid that may be derived from the 
State. The Commander, Major-General Nugent, is 
a county Cavan man, a Deputy Lieutenant for the 
county, and a kinsman of the Earl of Westmeath. 
He served in the King's Royal Rifles for seventeen 
years, and was wounded in both the Chitral and 
South African campaigns. 

The Division completed its training at Seaford, in 
Sussex. On visiting the district I was amused to 
find that the advent of "the wild Irish" had been 
anticipated by the inhabitants with much misgiving. 
They were apprehensive of their ancient peace being 
disturbed by the hilarity and commotion that spring 
from high and undisciplined spirits. What did 
happen agreeably surprised the Sussex folk. The 
Ulstermen quickly earned the esteem of every one for 



EXPLOITS OF THE ULSTER DIVISION 29 

their affable qualities and good-humour. What was 
particularly remarkable was that they were found to 
be most pliant and tractable — qualities which, by 
common tradition, are supposed not to be looked for 
in any body of Irishmen ; and as for their moral 
behaviour, what was more astonishing still was that 
the church or the chapel was to them infinitely more 
attractive than the inn. 

So the Division prepared themselves for taking the 
field against the enemy. They were reviewed by the 
King shortly before leaving for the Front. "Your 
prompt patriotic answer to the nation's call to arms 
will never be forgotten," said his Majesty. "The keen 
exertions of all ranks during the period of training 
have brought you to a state of efficiency not unworthy 
of any Regular Army. I am confident that in the 
field you will nobly uphold the traditions of the fine 
regiments whose names you bear. Ever since your 
enrolment I have closely watched the growth and 
steady progress of all units. I shall continue to follow 
with interest the fortunes of your Division. In bid- 
ding you farewell I pray God may bless you in all 
your undertakings." In the autumn of 1915 they went 
to France, determined to uphold the highest traditions 
of the fighting qualities of the Irish race, and burning 
for a chance of distinction. 

During the winter months of 1915-16 the Division 
took its turns in the firing-line. Every battalion 
experienced the hardships and dangers of the front 
trenches, when the weather was at its worst for chills, 
bronchitis, pneumonia and frost-bite, and when the 
Germans were most active at sniping and bombard- 
ing. Names of men in the Division began to appear 
in the lists of casualties within ten days of the landing 
in France. The battalions passed through these pre- 
liminary stages with courage, endurance and splendid 
determination. They quickly earned a fine reputation 



3 o THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

among the highest military commanders for such 
soldierly qualities as willingness and cheerfulness in 
doing any sort of work, however unpleasant, that fell 
to them in the trenches, and their coolness and alert- 
ness on such dangerous missions as going out at 
night to the listening posts in No Man's Land and 
repairing the wire entanglements. Eager to snatch 
their share of peril and glory, they were also among 
the foremost in volunteering for such wild adventures 
as bombing raids on the German trenches under cover 
of darkness. One such daring exploit by the Tyrone 
Volunteers was the subject of a special order of the 
day issued by Major-General Nugent, commanding 
the Division. It was as follows — 



" A raid on the German trenches was carried out at 

midnight on by the Royal Inniskilling Fusiliers. The 

raiding party consisted of Major W. J. Peacocke, Captain 
T. Weir, Lieutenant W. S. Furness, Second-Lieutenant L. W. 
H. Stevenson, Second-Lieutenant R, W. M'Kinley, Second- 
Lieutenant J. Taylor, and eighty-four other ranks. The raid 
was completely successful, and was carried out exactly as 
planned. Six German dugouts, in which it is certain there 
were a considerable number of men, were thoroughly bombed, 
and a machine-gun was blown up, while a lively bombing 
fight took place between the blocking detachments of the 
raiding party and the Germans. Having accomplished the 
purpose of the raid, the party was withdrawn, with the loss 
of one man killed and two wounded. The raid was ably 
organised by Major Peacocke, and was carried out by the 
officers and men of the party exactly in accordance with the 
plan, and the discipline and determination of the party was 
all that could be desired. The Divisional Commander desires 
that his congratulations should be extended to all who took 
part in it. 

" Brigadier- General Hickman, in a special brigade order, 
says the arrangements and plans reflect the greatest credit on 
Colonel A. St. Q. Ricardo, D.S.O., commanding the battalion, 
Major Peacocke, and the other officers concerned. The whole 
scheme was executed with great dash and determination, 
cool judgment and nerve." 



EXPLOITS OF THE ULSTER DIVISION 31 

Such was the fame of the raid and its success that 
the Commander-in-Chief, Sir Douglas Haig, visited 
the battalion and personally congratulated them. 

Dr. Crozier, Archbishop of Armagh and Primate 
of all Ireland, visited the Division in January 1916; 
and after a week spent with the battalions, brought 
home a deep impression of their spirit and devotion. 
"A more capable, energetic and cheerful body of men 
I have never come across," he writes. "I have seen 
them at rifle practice, bomb-throwing, route march- 
ing, road-mending, and in the trenches, and every- 
where my experience was the same — officers and men 
working in splendid harmony, and taking the keenest 
interest in any and every job they were given to do. 
One night I met a couple of hundred men coming 
back from eight days' weary work in water-logged 
trenches, and they were singing so lustily that I really 
thought at first they were coming from a concert. 
And yet the war is to them a terrible reality, and they 
have already experienced some of its horror. I could 
not help noticing that this has produced a deep sense 
of responsibility, and has intensified their belief in the 
reality of duty ; and whether at Sunday services or at 
weekday informal addresses, there were no restless 
or inattentive men, but they seemed to welcome every 
word that spoke of God's presence and guidance in 
all life's difficulties and dangers." 



CHAPTER III 

ULSTERS' ATTACK ON THE SLOPES 
OF THIEPVAL 

"not a man turned to come back, not one " 

The Division was put to the great test on July i, 
1916, the memorable day of the opening of the Battle 
of the Somme and the British attack in force to break 
through the German trenches in Picardy. It was a 
formidable task. The strength of the enemy posi- 
tions was that they stood on high ground. That, 
also, was the reason of their importance. The table- 
land must be taken and held to permit of an advance 
in the stretch of open country spreading on the other 
side to the north. It was to be uphill work. So the 
battle became the greatest the world has ever known, 
so far, for its dimensions, the numbers engaged and 
the duration. The Ulstermen were in the left wing 
of the British lines, and the scene of their operations 
was, roughly, three miles of broken country, dips and 
swells, on each side of the river Ancre, between the 
village of Beaumont Hamel, nestling in a nook of the 
hill above the river, eastwards to the slopes of Thiep- 
val, perched on a height about 500 feet, below the 
river, all within the German lines. The main body 
of the Division assembled in the shelter of a Thiepval 
wood. "Porcupine Wood " it was called by the men. 
The trees were so stripped of foliage and lopped into 
distorted shapes by enemy gun-fire that their bare 

32 



ULSTERS' ATTACK ON THIEPVAL 33 

limbs stood up like quills of the fretful porcupine. 
At half-past seven in the morning the advance com- 
menced. For ten days the British batteries had been 
continuously bombarding the whole German front. 
There was no sudden hush of the cannonade at the 
moment of the attack. For a minute there was a 
dramatic pause while the guns were being lifted a 
point higher so that they might drop their shells 
behind the enemy's first lines. Then the British 
infantry emerged from their trenches and advanced 
behind this furious and devastating curtain of fire and 
projectiles . 

The morning was glorious and the prospect fine. 
The sun shone brightly in the most beautiful of skies, 
clear blue flecked with pure white clouds; and as the 
Ulstermen came out of the wood and ranged up in 
lines for the push forward, they saw, in the distant 
view, a sweet and pleasant upland country, the capture 
of which was the object of the attack. In the hollows 
the meadows were lush with grass, thick and glossy. 
There was tillage even, green crops of beetroot grow- 
ing close to the ground, and tall yellowing corn, far 
behind the main German trenches. It was like a 
haunt of husbandry and peace. The only sound one 
would expect to hear from those harvest fields was 
that of the soothing reaping-machine garnering the 
wheat to make bread for the family board of a mother 
and a brood of young children. But no tiller of the 
soil was to be seen, near or far. The countryside to 
the horizon ridge was tenantless, until these tens of 
thousands of British soldiers suddenly came up out 
of the ground. Even in the Franco-Prussian War of 
1870 the agriculturists of northern France — then, as 
now, the zone of conflict — remained in the homes and 
pursued their avocations. During the battle of Sedan, 
which sealed the fate of France, an extraordinary 
incident occurred — a peasant was observed in one of 

c 



34 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

the valleys within the area of the fight calmly guiding 
the plough drawn by a big white horse. "Why 
should the man lose a day ? " says Zola in The Down- 
fall. "Corn would not cease growing, the human 
race would not cease living, because a few thousand 
men happened to be fighting." But war is waged 
differently now. It is spread along fronts hundreds 
of miles in extent and depth. Millions of men are 
engaged. They burrow underground and are armed 
with terrific engines of destruction. So it was that 
behind that green and pleasant land, bathed in sun- 
shine, ferocity and death are skulking underground. 
Those elaborately interlacing white chalky lines over 
the face of the landscape mark the run of the German 
trenches. Each dip is a death-trap. The copses are 
barricaded with fallen timber and wired; the villages 
are citadels, the farmsteads are forts, the ridges of the 
two plateaux are each one succession of batteries. 
Swallows were darting to and fro hawking for flies for 
their young, and in the clear air soaring larks were 
singing to their mates brooding on their eggs in the 
grass, showing that Nature was still carrying on her 
eternal processes, but the husbandman had fled the 
deceiving scene, and the after-crops from his old 
sowings of corn and mustard were mixed with weeds 
in No Man's Land. 

Things befell the Ulstermen, when they appeared 
in the open, which were things indeed. The fortunes 
of war varied along the British advance. A group of 
war correspondents on a height near the town of 
Albert, about midway in the line, noticed that while 
some of the British battalions were comparatively 
unmolested, the resistance of the enemy to the left or 
west was of the fiercest and most desperate character. 
The Germans seem to have expected the main assault 
at this part of the field of operations. Their guns and 
men were here most heavily massed. On the left of 



ULSTERS' ATTACK ON THIEPVAL 35 

the valley made by a curve of the river Ancre is a 
crest, in a crease of which lay on that July morning 
the village of Beaumont Hamel, or rather its site, for 
it had been blown almost out of existence by the 
British artillery fire. Under the village — as shown 
by explorations made after it fell — were a vast system 
of passages and cellars, in which whole battalions of 
Germans found shelter from the bombardment. On 
the right of the valley is the plateau of Thiepval. It 
was as strong a position as the consummate skill of 
German engineers and gunners could make it. On 
the sky line at the top of a ridge of the plateau were 
the ruins of the village of Thiepval — heaps of bricks 
and slates and timber that once were walls and roofs 
of houses — encircled by blackened stumps of trees that 
once in the spring were all pink and white of the apple 
blossom. The ground sloping down to the valley, 
and the valley itself was a network of German trenches 
— mostly turned into a maze of upheaved earth- 
mounds by shell-fire — studded with many machine- 
gun posts. The main part of the Ulster Division 
advanced across the valley that rose gently, with many 
undulations upwards, to the slopes on the western or 
left side of Thiepval. They had to take what were 
called the A, B and C lines of trenches. As will be 
seen, they pushed far beyond their objective. 

Clouds of smoke had been liberated from the British 
lines to form a screen for the attackers. Into it the 
men disappeared as they marched, line after line, in 
extended order, over the intervening stretch of ground. 
But almost immediately they were all scourged — 
especially the Ulster battalions on the extreme left 
moving towards Beaumont Hamel — with machine-gun 
fire poured at them from various points, to the con- 
tinuous accompaniment of short, sharp, annihilating 
knocks. The bullets literally came like water from 
an immense hose with a perforated top. The streams 



36 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

of lead crossed and re-crossed, sweeping the ranks 
about the ankles, at the waist; breast high, around 
their heads. Comrades were to be seen falling on all 
sides, right, left, front and rear. So searching was 
the fire that it was useless to seek cover, and advance 
in short rushes in between. So the lines kept un- 
dauntedly on their way, apparently not minding the 
bullets any more than if they were a driving and 
splashing shower of hail. 

" Let her rip, ye divils ! " shouted some of the 
Ulstermen in jocular defiance at the enemy and his 
machine-gun ; "and," said an officer relating the story, 
"the. Bosche let her rip all right." One of the 
wounded rank and file told me that in the advance he 
lost entire perception of the roar of the British guns 
which was so impressive as he lay with his comrades 
in the wood, though they still continued their thunder- 
ing. Their terrible diapason of sound seemed to be 
lulled into absolute silence, so far as he was concerned, 
by the hollow, crepitating "tap-t-t-tap " of the German 
machine-guns; and the swish, swish, swish of the 
bullets, of all the noises of battle the most unnerving 
to soldiers assailing a position. But the Ulstermen 
were in a mood of the highest exaltation, a mood in 
which troops may be destroyed but will not easily be 
subjugated. The day had thrilling historic memories 
for them. 

" July the First on the banks of the Boyne, 
There was a famous battle." 

The opening lines of their song, "The Boyne Water," 
recounting the deeds of their forefathers, came inevi- 
tably to their minds. "Just as we were about to 
attack," writes Rifleman Edward Taylor of the West 
Belfast Volunteers, "Captain Gaffikin took out an 
orange handkerchief and, waving it around his head, 
shouted, ' Come on, boys, this is the first of July ! ' " 



ULSTERS' ATTACK ON THIEPVAL 37 

"No surrender ! " roared the men. It was the answer 
given by the gallant defenders of Derry from their 
walls to King James and the besieging Jacobites. 
On the fields of Picardy new and noble meanings 
were put into these old, out-worn Irish battle-cries. 
One sergeant of the Inniskillings went into the fray 
with his Orange sash on him. Some of the men 
provided themselves with orange lilies before they 
went up to the assembly trenches, and these they now 
wore in their breasts. But, indeed, their colours were 
growing in profusion at their feet when they came out 
of the trenches — yellow charlock, crimson poppies and 
blue cornflowers, and many put bunches of these wild 
flowers in their tunics. So the Ulstermen were keen 
to prove their metal. They divided their forces and 
advanced to German positions on the right and left. 
Through it all their battle-shout was "No surrender." 
But there was one surrender which they were prepared 
to make, and did make — the surrender, for the cause, 
of their young lives and all the bright hopes of youth. 
When the battalions on the right reached the first 
German line they found shapeless mounds and cavities 
of soil and stones and timber, shattered strands and 
coils of barbed wire, where the trenches had been, and 
the dead bodies of the men who were in occupation 
of them at the bombardment. The Ulstermen then 
pushed on to the second line, which still held living 
men of courage and tenacity who had to be disposed 
of by bayonet and bomb. On to the third line the 
Ulstermen went at a steady pace. They were still 
being whipped by machine-gun fire. Their ranks were 
getting woefully thinner. In their tracks they left 
dead and wounded. At the sight of a familiar face 
among the curiously awkward attitudes and shapes of 
those instantaneously killed there was many a cold 
tug at the heart-strings of the advancing men, and 
many a groan of sorrow was suppressed on their lips. 



38 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

The moaning of the wounded was also terrible to 
hear, but their spirit was magnificent. "Lying on the 
ground there under fire, they had no thought of their 
own danger, but only of the comrades who were going 
forward, and they kept shouting words of encourage- 
ment after the attacking column until it was well out 
of sight," said an Inniskilling Fusilier. "One com- 
pany, recruited mainly from the notorious Shankill 
road district of Belfast, was going forward, when a 
wounded man recognised some of his chums in it. 
1 Give them it hot for the Shankill road,' he cried, and 
his comrades answered with a cheer." The same man, 
giving a general account of the fiercely contested 
attack on the enemy positions, said, " It was a case of 
playing leapfrog with death, but all obstacles were 
overcome, and the Fusiliers carried the enemy trenches 
with a magnificent rush. The Huns turned on them 
like baffled tigers and tried to hurl the Irishmen out 
again, but they might as well have tried to batter 
down the walls of Derry with toothpicks. The Inni- 
skillings held their ground, and gradually forced the 
enemy still further back." 

The German trenches, with their first, second, third, 
fourth and fifth lines, formed a system of defences of 
considerable depth, into which the Ulstermen had 
now penetrated for distances varying from two to 
three miles in depth. It was a land of horrible desola- 
tion. The ground at this point was almost bare of 
vegetation. It was torn and lacerated with shell 
holes. The few trees that remained standing were 
reduced to splintered and jagged stumps. All was 
smoke, flashes, uproar and nauseating smells. In 
this stricken battle area the defence was as stubborn 
and desperate as the attack. It seemed impossible 
for men with a nervous system and imagination to 
retain their reason and resolution in the terrific, inten- 
sive and searching preliminary bombardment. Never- 



ULSTERS' ATTACK ON THIEPVAL 39 

theless, the Germans did it. The British guns had, 
indeed, wrought widespread havoc. Not only lines 
of trenches were pounded to bits, but spots outside, 
affording concealment for guns and troops, were dis- 
covered and blown to atoms. There were, however, 
deep dug-outs going as many as thirty feet below 
ground, and in some cases, even at that depth, there 
were trapdoors and stairs leading to still lower 
chambers, and up from these underground fortifica- 
tions the Germans came when the cannonade lifted. 
There were also hidden machine-gun shelters in the 
hollows and on the slopes which the British artillery 
failed to find. The resistance offered to the advance 
of the Ulstermen was accordingly of the most obstinate 
and persistent nature. The hand-to-hand fight with 
bayonet and bomb at the third line of trenches was 
described by a man of the Irish Rifles as "a Belfast 
riot on the top of Mount Vesuvius." No more need 
be said. The phrase conveys a picture of men madly 
struggling and yelling amid fire and smoke and the 
abominable stench of battle. Yet the enemy's fourth 
line fell before these men who would not be stopped. 
There remained the fifth line, and the Ulstermen were 
preparing to move forward to it when the order came 
to fall back. The state of affairs at this time of the 
evening is well explained by one of the men — 

" We had been so eager that we had pressed too far forward, 
and were well in advance of our supporting troops, thus laying 
ourselves open to flank attacks. The position became more 
serious as the day advanced, and the supporting troops were 
unable to make further progress, while the Huns kept hurry- 
ing up fresh men. We kept shouting the watchword of ' No 
Surrender,' with which our fathers had cheered themselves 
in the siege of Derry, and every time the Huns attacked we 
sent them reeling back with something to remind them that 
they were fighting Irishmen. We couldn't help taunting 
them a lot. ' Would you like some Irish rebellion ? ' we 
called out to them, and they didn't like it. They kept throwing 



4 o THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

in" fresh reinforcements all day, and gradually the pressure 
became almost unbearable. Still we held our ground, and 
would have continued to hold it if necessary." 

"Retirement," he adds, "is never a pleasant task, 
especially after you have fought your corner as we 
fought ours. We felt that the ground won was part 
of ourselves, but orders had to be obeyed, and so we 
went back." The retirement was to the third line of 
trenches, at the point known as "the Crucifix," just 
north-west of Thiepval. It was carried out at night- 
fall, after fourteen hours' continuous fighting. This 
section of the Division, in the words of Major-General 
Nugent, "captured nearly 600 prisoners, and carried 
its advance triumphantly to the limits of the objective 
laid down." 

The battalions, two in number, operating on the 
left at Beaumont Hamel, were not so fortunate. They 
were broken to pieces by the devastating machine-gun 
fire. The remnants, by a magnificent effort, suc- 
ceeded in getting into the German trenches. They 
were held up there by an utterly impassable curtain 
of shells and bullets. It was not their fault that they 
could not advance any further. They had to face a 
more terrific ordeal than any body of men have had to 
encounter in battle before. "They did all that men 
could do," says Major Nugent, "and, in common with 
every battalion in the Division, showed the most 
conspicuous courage and devotion." 

Lieut.-Colonel Ambrose Ricardo, D.S.O., of Lion 
House, Strahane, commander of the Tyrone battalion 
of the Royal Inniskilling Fusiliers, gives an account 
of the experience of the Ulster Division which is 
of the greatest value for the reasons it supplies why 
the Division lost so heavily and thus were unable to 
hold the advanced positions they had taken. He first 
describes how his men set out for their plunge into 



ULSTERS' ATTACK ON THIEPVAL 41 

the terrible unknown. "Every gun on both sides 
fired as fast as it could, and during the din our dear 
boys just walked out of the wood and up rumps we 
had cut through our parapet and out through lanes 
in our wire," he says. "I shall never forget for one 
minute the extraordinary sight. The Derrys on our 
left were so eager they started a few minutes before 
the ordered time, and the Tyrones were not going to 
be left behind, and they got going without delay. 
No fuss, no shouting, no running ; everything orderly, 
solid and thorough, just like the men themselves. 
Here and there a boy would wave his hand to me as 
I shouted good luck to them through my megaphone, 
and all had a happy face. Most were carrying loads. 
Fancy advancing against heavy fire carrying a heavy 
roll of barbed wire on your shoulder ! " 

Then dealing with the Division generally, Colonel 
Ricardo states that the leading battalions suffered 
comparatively little until they almost reached the 
German front line, when they came under appalling 
machine-gun fire which obliterated whole platoons. 
"And, alas for us," he cries, "the Division on our 
right could not get on, and the same happened to the 
Division on our left, so we came in for the concen- 
trated fire of what would have been spread over three 
Divisions. But every man who remained standing 
pressed on, and, without officers or non-commissioned 
officers, they carried on, faithful to their job. Not a 
man turned to come back, not one." 

Eventually small parties of all the battalions of the 
Division — except the two operating towards Beaumont 
Hamel — gathered together in the section of the Ger- 
man third line, which was their part in the general 
British advance. They had captured, in fact, a 
portion of the famous Schwabon Redoubt on the 
summit of the ridge facing them, and set to work to 
consolidate it. "The situation after the first two hours 



42 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

was indeed a cruel one for the Ulster Division," con- 
tinues Colonel Ricardo. "There they were, a wedge 
driven into the German lines, only a few hundred 
yards wide, and for fourteen hours they bore the brunt 
of the German machine-gun fire and shell-fire from 
three sides, and even from behind they were not safe. 
The parties told off to deal with the German first and 
second lines had in many cases been wiped out, and 
the Germans sent parties from the flanks in behind 
our boys. Yet the Division took 800 prisoners, and 
could have taken hundreds more, had they been able 
to handle them." 

Major John Peacocke, "a most gallant and dashing 
officer " (as Colonel Ricardo describes him), was sent 
forward to see how matters stood. He crossed "No 
Man's Land" at a time when the fire sweeping it was 
most intense. Taking charge of the defence of the 
captured position, he gave to each unit a certain task 
to do in furtherance of the common aim. Then he 
sent runners back with messages asking for reinforce- 
ments, for water and for bombs. "But," says Colonel 
Ricardo, "no one had any men in reserve, and no men 
were left to send across. We were told reinforce- 
ments were at hand, and to hold on, but it was difficult, 
I suppose, to get fresh troops up in time. At any rate 
the help did not come. In the end, at 10.30 p.m. 
(they had got to the third line at 8.30 a.m.), the 
glorious band in front had to come back. They 
fought to the last and threw their last bomb, and were 
so exhausted that most of them could not speak. 
Shortly after they came back help came, and the line 
they had taken and held was reoccupied without 
opposition, the Germans, I suppose, being as ex- 
hausted as we were. Our side eventually lost the 
wedge-like bit after some days. It was valueless, and 
could only be held at very heavy cost. We were 
withdrawn late on Sunday evening, very tired and 
weary." 



ULSTERS' ATTACK ON THIEPVAL 43 

A private in one of the battalions sent to his parents 
in Ulster a very vivid account of the advance. As he 
was crossing "No Man's Land " two aspects of it, in 
striking contrast, arose in his mind. "How often 
had I, while on sentry duty in our own trenches, 
looked out over that same piece of ground," he says. 
"How calm and peaceful it looked then; how fresh, 
green, and invitingly cool looked that long, blowing 
grass ! Now, what a ghastly change ! Not a level 
or green spot remained. Great, jagged, gaping 
craters covered the blackish, smoking ground, fur- 
rowed and ploughed by every description of projectile 
and explosive. In the blue sky above white, puffy 
clouds of shrapnel burst, bespattering the earth below 
with a rain of bullets and jagged shrapnel missiles." 

Tripping and stumbling went the men over the 
broken and ragged ground. "Fellows in front, 
beside, and behind me would fall ; some, with a lurch 
forward, wounded ; others, with a sudden, abrupt halt, 
a sickly wheel, would drop, give one eerie twist, and 
lie still — dead ! " They find the first line in the pos- 
session of comrades; and moving on to the second, 
came to blows there with the enemy. "An Inniskil- 
ling, scarcely more than a boy, standing on the 
parapet, yells madly ' No surrender,' and fires several 
shots into the German mob. From every part of the 
trench we closed forward, bayonet poised, on the 
crowd of grey figures. A short scuffle; then we 
swayed back again, leaving a heap of blood-stained 
greyishness on the ground. ' Come on, boys ! ' yells 
the lieutenant, springing up on to the parapet. ' Come 
on, the Ulsters.' Up we scramble after him and 
rush ahead towards the far-off third line. Vaguely I 
recollect that mad charge. A few swirlings here and 
there of grey-clad figures with upraised hands yelling 
1 Kamerad.' Heaps of wounded and dead. Showers 
of dust and earth and lead. Deafening explosions 



44 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

and blinding smoke. But what concerned me most 
and what I saw clearest were the few jagged stumps 
of the remnants of the wire entanglements and the 
ragged parapet of the third line — our goal ! " 

From this enemy trench the Ulsterman looked back 
over the ground he had covered, and this is what he 
saw : "Through the dense smoke pour hundreds and 
hundreds of Tommies, with flashing bayonets and 
distorted visages, apparently cheering and yelling. 
You couldn't hear them for the noise of the guns and 
the exploding shells. Everywhere among those fear- 
less Ulstermen burst high-explosive shells, hurling 
dozens of them up in the air, while above them and 
among them shrapnel bursts with sharp, ear-splitting 
explosions. But worst of all these was the silent 
swish, swish, swishing of the machine-gun bullets, 
claiming their victims by the score, cutting down 
living sheaves, and leaving bunches of writhing, tor- 
tured flesh on the ground." He, too, noticed that 
their co-operating Divisions had failed, for some 
reason, to advance. "Look there, something must 
be wrong ! " he called out to his comrades. "Why, 
they're not advancing on that side at all," pointing 
towards the left flank. "Not a sign of life could be 
seen," he says. "The Ulster Division were out to 
the Huns' first, second, third, fourth, and even fifth 
lines, with all the German guns pelting us from every 
side and at every angle." 

Many a brave and self-sacrificing deed was done in 
these affrighting scenes. Here are a few instances 
taken haphazard from the records of one battalion 
alone, the 9th Royal Inniskilling Fusiliers. They 
were repeated a hundredfold throughout the Division. 

Corporal Thomas M'Clay, Laghey, county Don- 
egal, assisted Second-Lieutenant Lawrence to take 
twenty prisoners. He conveyed them single-handed 
over "No Man's Land," and then returned to the 



ULSTERS' ATTACK ON THIEPVAL 45 

German third line, all the time having been under 
very heavy fire. When he got back he had been 
fighting hard for ten hours. Private Thomas Gibson, 
of Coalisland, saw three Germans working a machine- 
gun. He attacked them alone, and killed them all 
with his clubbed rifle. Corporal John Conn, Caledon, 
came across two of our machine-guns out of action. 
He repaired them under fire, and with them destroyed 
a German flanking party. He carried both guns 
himself part of the way back, but had to abandon one, 
he was so utterly exhausted. Lance-Corporal Daniel 
Lyttle, Leckpatrick, Strabane, was trying to save two 
machine-guns from the enemy when he found himself 
cut off. He fired one gun until the ammunition was 
spent, then destroyed both guns and bombed his way 
back to the rest of his party at the Crucifix line. 
Sergeant Samuel Kelly, Belfast, volunteered to take 
a patrol from the Crucifix line to ascertain how things 
were going on our right. Corporal Daniel Griffiths, 
Dublin ; Lance-Corporal Lewis Pratt, Cavan ; and 
Private William Abraham, Ballinamallard, went with 
him. The latter was killed, but the remainder got 
back with valuable information. Sergeant Kelly did 
great work to the last in organising and encouraging 
his men when all the officers of his company had 
fallen. Corporal Daniel Griffith, Lance-Corporal 
Lewis Pratt, with Private Fred Carter, Kingstown, 
bombed and shot nine Germans who were trying to 
mount a machine-gun. Private Samuel Turner, 
Dundrun, and Private Clarence Rooney, Clogher, 
forced a barricaded dug-out, captured fifteen Germans 
and destroyed an elaborate signalling apparatus, 
thereby preventing information getting back. Lance- 
Corporal William Neely, Clogher; Private Samuel 
Spence, Randalstown ; Private James Sproule, Castle- 
derg; and Private William R. Reid, Aughnacloy, 
were members of a party blocking the return of 



46 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

Germans along a captured trench. Their officer and 
more than half their comrades were killed, but they 
held on and covered the retirement of the main party, 
eventually getting back in good order themselves and 
fighting every inch of the way. Private Fred Gibson, 
Caledon, pushed forward alone with his machine-gun, 
and fought until all his ammunition was used. 
Private James MahafTy, Caledon, was badly wounded 
in the leg early in the day, and was ordered back. 
He refused to go, and continued to carry ammunition 
for his machine-gun. Lance-Corporal John Hunter, 
Coleraine, succeeded in picking off several German 
gunners. His cool and accurate shooting at such a 
time was remarkable. Private Robert Monteith, 
Lislap, Omagh, had his leg taken off above the knee. 
He used his rifle and bayonet as a crutch, and con- 
tinued to advance. Private Wallie Scott, Belfast, met 
five Germans. He captured them single-handed, and 
marched them back to the enemy second line, where 
a sergeant had a larger party of prisoners gathered. 



CHAPTER IV 

FOUR VICTORIA CROSSES TO THE 
ULSTER DIVISION 

BRILLIANT ADDITIONS TO THE RECORD OF IRISH VALOUR 
AND ROMANCE 

The most signal proof of the exceptional gallantry 
of the Ulstermen is afforded by the awarding of four 
Victoria Crosses to two officers and two privates of the 
Division. There is many a Division that has not won 
a single V.C. They must not be belittled on that 
score; their ill-fortune and not their service is to 
blame. But the rarity of the distinction, and the 
exceptional deed of bravery and self-sacrifice needed 
to win it, reflects all the more glory on the achieve- 
ments of the Ulstermen. By the winning of four 
Victoria Crosses the Ulster Division have made a 
name which will shine gloriously for all time in 
the imperishable record of British gallantry on the 
battlefield. 

Private Wiiliam Frederick McFadzean of the Royal 
Irish Rifles was posthumously awarded the Victoria 
Cross for sacrificing himself deliberately to save his 
comrades. The men of the battalion were packed 
together in a concentration trench on the morning of 
July i. Just prior to the advance bombs were being 
distributed for use when the German lines were 
reached. One of the boxes of these missiles slipped 
down the trench and emptied its contents on the floor. 

47 



48 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

Two of the safety pins fell out. Shouts of alarm were 
raised. Men who would face the German bombs 
undaunted shrank with a purely physical reaction 
from the peril which thus accidentally threatened 
them. They knew that in a moment these bombs 
would explode with a terrific detonation and scatter 
death and mutilation among them. In that instant 
McFadzean flung himself bodily on the top of the 
bombs. He was a bomber himself, and he well knew 
the danger, but he did not hesitate. The bombs 
exploded. All their tremendous powers of destruction 
were concentrated upon the body which enveloped 
them in an embrace. McFadzean was blown literally 
to bits One only of his comrades was injured. 

McFadzean was only twenty-one years of age. He 
was born at Lurgan, County Armagh, and was a 
Presbyterian. A member of the Ulster Volunteer 
Force, he joined the Young Citizens' Battalion (Bel- 
fast) of the Royal Irish Rifles in September 1914. 

The other private who won the Victoria Cross is 
Robert Quigg, also of the Royal Irish Rifles. On 
the morning after the advance he went out seven 
times, alone and in the face of danger, to try to find 
his wounded officer, Sir Harry Macnaghten of Dun- 
daraye, Antrim, and returned on each occasion with 
a disabled man. Private Quigg is thirty-one, the 
son of Robert Quigg, a guide and boatman at the 
Giant's Causeway, Antrim. He was a member of the 
Ulster Volunteer Force, and enlisted in the Royal 
Irish Rifles (Central Antrim Volunteers) in Septem- 
ber, 1914. He is an Episcopalian, an Orangeman 
and a member of the flute band of his lodge. 

The official account of Private Quigg's exploit is as 
follows — 

" For most conspicuous bravery. He advanced to the 
assault with his platoon three times. Early next morning. 



FOUR VICTORIA CROSSES 49 

hearing a rumour that his platoon officer was lying out wounded, 
he went out seven times to look for him under heavy shell and 
machine-gun fire, each time bringing back a wounded man. 
The last man he dragged in on a waterproof sheet from within 
a few yards of the enemy's wire. He was seven hours engaged 
in this most gallant work, and finally was so exhausted that 
he had to give it up." 

It was also "for most conspicuous bravery" in 
searching for wounded men under continuous and 
heavy fire that Lieutenant Geoffrey Shillington Cather 
of the Royal Irish Fusiliers got the Victoria Cross. 
He lost his life in thus trying to succour others on 
the night and morning after the advance of the Ulster 
Division. "From 7 p.m. till midnight he searched 
1 No Man's Land,' and brought in three wounded 
men," says the official account. "Next morning, at 
8 a.m., he continued his search, brought in another 
wounded man, and gave water to others, arranging 
for their rescue later. Finally, at 10.30 a.m., he took 
out water to another man, and was proceeding further 
on when he was himself killed. All this was carried 
out in full view of the enemy, and under direct 
machine-gun fire, and intermittent artillery fire. He 
set a splendid example of courage and self-sacrifice." 

Lieutenant Cather was twenty-five years of age, a 
son of Mrs. Cather, Priory Road, West Hampstead, 
London. His father, who was dead, had been a tea 
merchant in the City. On his mother's side, Lieu- 
tenant Cather was a grandson of the late Mr. Thomas 
Shillington, of Tavanagh House, Portadown ; and on 
his father's side, of the late Rev. Robert Cather, a 
distinguished minister of the Irish Methodist Church. 
He was a nephew of Captain D. Graham Shillington, 
of Ardeevin, Portadown, who, with his son, Lieu- 
tenant T. G. Shillington, was serving in the same 
battalion of the Royal Irish Fusiliers. Lieutenant 
Cather was educated at Rugby. He first joined the 



50 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

Public Schools' Battalion of the Royal Fusiliers (City 
of London Regiment), and obtained his commission 
in the County Armagh Volunteers in May, 1915. 

The second officer of the Ulster Division to win 
the Victoria Cross was Captain Eric N. F. Bell of the 
Royal Inniskilling Fusiliers, whose gallantry on July 1 
also cost him his life. He was about twenty-two 
years old, one of three soldier sons of Captain E. H. 
Bell, formerly of the Inniskillings (serving in Egypt 
in a garrison battalion of the Royal Irish Regiment), 
and Mrs. Bell, an Enniskillen lady living in Bootle. 
The two brothers of the late Captain Bell hold com- 
missions in the Ulster Division. The deeds for which 
he was awarded the Victoria Cross are thus set out in 
the official account — 

" For most conspicuous bravery. He was in command 
of a trench mortar battery, and advanced with the infantry 
in the attack. When our front line was hung up by enfilading 
machine-gun fire Captain Bell crept forward and shot the 
machine gunner. Later, on no less than three occasions, 
when our bombing parties, which were clearing the enemy's 
trenches, were unable to advance, he went forward and threw 
trench mortar bombs among the enemy. When he had no 
more bombs available he stood on the parapet, under intense 
fire, and used a rifle with great coolness and effect on the enemy 
advancing to counter-attack. Finally he was killed rallying 
and reorganising infantry parties which had lost their officers. 
All this was outside the scope of his normal duties with his 
battery. He gave his life in his supreme devotion to duty." 

Colonel Ricardo, in a very fine and sympathetic 
letter to the bereaved mother, gives additional par- 
ticulars of Captain Bell's gallantry — 

" The General, hearing that his parents were old friends of 
mine, has asked me to write on his behalf, sending his sympathy 
and telling of the gallantry of Eric, which was outstanding 
on a day when supreme courage and gallantry was the order 
of the day. Eric was in command on July 1 of his trench 
mortar battery, which had very important duties to perform, 
and which very materially helped the advance. We know 



FOUR VICTORIA CROSSES 51 

from his servant, Private Stevenson, a great deal of Eric's 
share in the day's work. He went forward with the advance, 
and, coming under heavy machine-gun fire, and seeing where 
it came from, he took a rifle and crawled towards the machine- 
gun and then shot the gunner in charge, thus enabling a party 
on his flank to capture the gun. This gallant action saved 
many lives. 

" When in the German lines Eric worked splendidly, collect- 
ing scattered units and helping to organise the defence. He 
was most energetic, and never ceased to encourage the men 
and set all a very fine example. Having exhausted all his 
mortar ammunition, he organised a carrying party and started 
back to fetch up more shells; it was whilst crossing back to 
our own line that Eric was hit. He was shot through the 
body, and died in a few moments without suffering. His 
servant stayed with him to the end and arrived back quite 
exhausted, and has now been admitted into hospital. Nothing 
could have exceeded the courage and resource displayed by 
Eric. The Brigade are proud that he belonged to it. It is 
only what I should have expected from him. It must be a 
solace to his father and mother that he died such a gallant 
death. He was a born soldier and a credit to his regiment. 
May I add my heartfelt sympathy to my dear old friends." 

Among the many other distinctions gained by the 
Division were Military Crosses to two of the chap- 
lains : Captain Rev. J. Jackson Wright and Captain 
Rev. Joseph Henry McKew. Captain Wright was 
the Presbyterian minister of Ballyshannon, County 
Donegal. He gave up that position temporarily to 
accept an Army chaplaincy, and was posted to the 
Ulster Division in November, 1914, being attached 
to the Inniskilling Brigade. He was ordained in 
1893. Captain McKew was curate of the parish of 
Clones prior to being appointed Church of Ireland 
chaplain to the troops in August, 191 5. He is a 
Trinity man, and during his university career won a 
moderatorship in history. Ordained in 19 14, he has 
spent his entire ministry under Canon Ruddell in 
Clones. Before going to the Front he was a chaplain 
at the Curragh. 



52 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

The company officers led their men with con- 
spicuous gallantry and steadfastness. "Come on, 
Ulsters;" "Remember July the First," they cried. 
They were severely thinned out before the day was far 
advanced. It was the same with the non-commis- 
sioned ranks. At the end several parties of men 
desperately fighting had not an officer or a non-com- 
missioned officer left. Among the officers lost were 
two brothers, Lieutenant Holt Montgomery Hewitt, 
Machine-gun Corps (Ulster Division), and Second- 
Lieutenant William Arthur Hewitt, Royal Inniskil- 
ling Fusiliers (Tyrone Volunteers). They were the 
sons of Mr. J. H. Hewitt, manager of the workshops 
for the blind, Royal Avenue, Belfast. A third son, 
Lieutenant Ernest Henry Hewitt, Royal Lancaster 
Regiment, was killed in action on June 15, 1915. The 
three brothers were members of the Ulster Volunteer 
Force before the War. They were prominent athletes, 
and played Rugby football for the North of Ireland 
club. In that respect they were typical of the officers 
of the Ulster Division. They were also typical of 
them for high-mindedness and cheerful devotion to 
duty. "Poor Holt, the most genial and lovable of 
souls!" exclaims Lieutenant E. W. Crawford, the 
adjutant of his battalion of the Inniskillings. "Willie 
led his platoon fearlessly over the top." The com- 
manding officer of the battalion, Colonel Ricardo, in 
a letter to Mr. Hewitt, pays a remarkable tribute to 
Second-Lieutenant William Holt. He says : " It was 
a sad day for us, and I feel quite stunned and heart- 
broken. Your Willie was one of the nicest-minded 
boys I ever knew. My wife saw a letter he wrote to 
the widow of a man in his company, and she told me 
it was the most beautiful letter of sympathy she had 
ever read. No one but a spiritually-minded boy 
could have written such a letter. I made him my 
assistant-adjutant, and of all my young lads I could 



FOUR VICTORIA CROSSES 53 

spare him the least. No words can express the 
sympathy we all feel for yourself and Mrs. Hewitt 
and your family in this grievous double blow." 

Captain C. C. Craig, Royal Irish Rifles (South 
Antrim Volunteers), M.P. for South Antrim and 
brother of Colonel James Craig, M.P. for East Down, 
was taken prisoner. When last seen he was lying 
wounded in a shell hole at the most advanced point 
of the narrow and dangerous salient carved by the 
Ulstermen in the enemy lines, shouting encourage- 
ment to his company. In a letter to his wife, written 
from a hospital at Gutersloh, Westphalia, Germany, 
and dated July 13, Captain Craig states it was while 
he was directing his men to convert the C line of 
trenches into defences against the Germans by making 
them face the opposite way, that he was hit by a piece 
of shrapnel in the back of the leg below the knee. 
"This put me out of action," he says. "I was ban- 
daged up, and, as I could not get about, I sent a 
message to R. Neill to take command, and I crawled 
to a shell-hole, where I lay for six hours. This was 
at about 10 a.m. on the 1st July. During this six 
hours the shelling and machine-gun fire was very 
heavy, but my shell-hole protected me so well that I 
was not hit again, except for a very small piece of 
shrapnel on the arm, which only made a small cut." 
At about four o'clock in the afternoon the enemy made 
a counter attack, during which Captain Craig was 
found and taken prisoner. Describing his treatment 
as a prisoner, Captain Craig says — 

" I had to hobble into a trench close at hand, where I stayed 
till ten o'clock, till two Germans took me to another line of 
trenches about 400 or 500 yards further back. This was the 
worst experience I had, as my leg was stiff and painful. The 
space between the lines was being heavily shelled by our guns, 
and my two supporters were naturally anxious to get over the 
ground as quickly as possible, and did not give me much rest, 



54 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

so I was very glad when, after what seemed an age, though 
it was not more than fifteen minutes or so, we got to the trench. 
I was put in a deep dug-out, where there were a lot of officers 
and men, and they were all very kind to me, and gave me food 
and water, and here I spent the night. My leg was by now 
much swollen, but not painful except when I tried to walk. 
There were no stretchers, so in the morning I had to hobble 
as best I could out of the trenches till we came to a wood. 
Soon after I passed a dug-out where some artillery officers 
lived, and the captain seeing my condition refused to allow 
me to go any further on foot, and took me in and gave me food 
and wine, and set his men to make a kind of sling to carry me 
in. This proved a failure ; as I was so heavy, I nearly broke 
the men's shoulders. He then got, a wheelbarrow, and in 
this I was wheeled a mile or more to 'a dressing station, where 
my wound was dressed, and I was inoculated for tetanus. 
That night I was taken to a village, and had a comfortable 
bed and a good sleep." 

Another officer of the Division who was "pipped," 
as he calls it, tells in an interesting story how he 
worked himself along the ground towards the British 
lines, and his experiences on the way. "By and by," 
he says, "a Boche corporal came crawling along after 
me. He shouted some gibberish, and I waved him 
on towards our lines with my revolver. He wasn't 
wounded, but he was devilish anxious to make sure of 
being a prisoner — begad, you don't get our chaps 
paying them the same compliment. They'll take any 
risks sooner than let the Boche get them as prisoners. 
So this chap lay down close beside me. I told him 
to be off out o' that, but he lay close, and I'd no breath 
to spare. That crawling is tiresome work. Presently 
I saw a man of ours coming along, poking round with 
his rifle and bayonet. He'd been detailed to shepherd 
in prisoners. He was surprised to see me. Then he 
saw my Boche. ' Hell to yer sowl ! ' says he; ' what 
the divil are ye doin' there beside my officer? Get 
up,' says he, ' an' be off with ye out a' that ! ' And 
he poked at him with his bayonet; so the fellow 



FOUR VICTORIA CROSSES 55 

squealed and plucked up enough courage to get up on 
his feet and run for our lines. Our own man wanted 
to help me back — a good fellow, you know — but I'd 
time enough before me, so told him to carry on. I 
wriggled all the way back to our line, and a stretcher- 
bearer got me there, so I was all right." 

When they were relieved, the survivors of the 
Division came back very tired and bedraggled, their 
faces black with battle smoke and their uniforms white 
from the chalky soil. But they were in a joyous 
mood; and well they might be, for they had battered 
in one of the doors of the supposed impregnable Ger- 
man trenches and left it ajar. Their exploits add a 
brilliant chapter to the record of Irish valour and 
romance. Grief for the dead will soon subside into 
a sad memory, but the glory of what they accom- 
plished will endure for ever. Because of it, the First 
of July is certain to be as great a day for Ulster in the 
future as the Twelfth has been in the past. 



CHAPTER V 
COMBATIVENESS OF THE IRISH SOLDIER 

THE BRITISH BLENDS OF COURAGE 

There is a story of Wellington and his army in the 
Peninsular campaign which embodies, in a humorous 
fashion, the still popular idea of the chief national 
characteristics of the races within the United 
Kingdom. 

It says that if Wellington wanted a body of troops 
to get to a particular place quickly by forced marches 
he gave an assurance that on their arrival Scottish 
regiments would be given their arrears of pay; Eng- 
lish regiments would have a good dinner of roast beef, 
and the bait held out to Irish regiments to give speed 
to their feet, however weary, was an all-round tot of 
grog. The Welsh, it will be noticed, are not in the 
story. This cannot be explained by saying they had 
yet to achieve separate national distinction on the field 
of battle. The 23rd Regiment of Foot (Royal Welsh 
Fusiliers) served under Wellington and contributed 
more than their fair share to the martial renown of 
the British Army. It is solely due, I think, to the 
fact that they had not yet emerged from their absorp- 
tion in the English generally. But, to round off the 
story, what motive of a material kind would impel 
the Welsh Regiments to greater military exertions? 
Shall we say any one of the three inducements men- 
tioned — pay, grub or grog, or, better still, all of them 
together ? 

56 



COMBATIVENESS OF IRISH SOLDIER 57 

The present war has provided the most searching 
tests of the qualities of the races involved in it. They 
have all been profoundly moved to the uttermost deeps 
of their being, both in the mass and as individuals. 
The superficial trappings of society and even of civil- 
isation have fallen from them, and they appear as 
they really are — brave or cowardly, noble or base, 
unselfish or egotistical. We see our own soldiers, 
English, Scottish, Welsh and Irish, not perhaps quite 
as each came from the hands of Nature, but certainly 
as the original minting of each has been modified only 
by the influence of racial environment. All the races 
within the United Kingdom are alike in this, that 
each is a medley of many kinds of dissimilar indi- 
viduals with very varied faculties and attributes. But 
there are certain broad, main characteristics which 
distinguish in the mass each racial aggregate of dis- 
similar units; and it is these instincts, ideas, habits, 
customs, held in common, that fundamentally separate 
each nationality from the other. That is what I mean 
by racial environment. 

The soldiers of the United Kingdom, possess in 
general certain fine qualities of character and conduct 
which may be ascribed to the traditions and training 
of the British Army. But when we come to consider 
themi racially we find that their points of difference 
are more striking even than their points of similarity. 
Each nationality evolves its own type of soldier, and 
every type has its distinctly marked attributes. As 
troops, taken in the mass, are the counterpart of the 
nations from which they spring, and, indeed, cannot 
be anything else, so they must, for one thing, reveal 
in fighting the particular sort of martial spirit pos- 
sessed by their race. Though I am an Irishman, I 
would not be so boastful as to say that the Irish 
soldiers have a superior kind of courage to which 
neither the English, the Scottish nor the Welsh can 



58 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

lay claim. They are all equally brave, but the mani- 
festation of their bravery is undoubtedly different — 
that is, different not so much in degree as in kind. 
In a word, courage, like humour, is not racial or 
geographical, but, like humour also, it takes on a 
racial or geographical flavour. 

General Sir Ian Hamilton has written: "When, 
once upon a time, a Queen of Spain saw the Grenadier 
Guards she remarked they were strapping fellows; 
as the 92nd Highlanders went by she said, ' The bat- 
talion marches well ' ; but, at the aspect of the Royal 
Irish, the words ' Bloody War ! ' were wrung from 
her reluctant lips." After a good deal of reading on 
the subject, and some thought, I venture to suggest 
the following generalisations as to the qualities which 
distinguish the English, Scottish, Welsh and Irish, 
in valour, one from another. 

English — the courage of an exalted sense of honour 
and devotion to duty, and of the national standard of 
conduct which requires them to show, at all costs, that 
they are better men than their opponents, whoever 
they may be. 

Scottish — the courage of mental as well as physical 
tenacity, coolly set upon achieving the purpose in 
view. 

Welsh — the courage of perfervid emotion, religious 
in its intensity. 

Irish — the courage of dare-devilry, and the rapture 
of battle. 

All these varieties of courage are to be found, to 
some extent, in each distinct national unit, and thus 
they cross and recross the racial boundary lines within 
our Army. Still, I think they represent broadly the 
dominant distinguishing characteristics of the Eng- 
lish, Scottish, Welsh and Irish as fighting men. The 



COMBATIVENESS OF IRISH SOLDIER 59 

qualities lacking in one race are supplied by the 
others; and the harmonious whole into which all are 
fused provide that fire and dash, cool discipline, 
doggedness and high spirits for which our troops 
have always been noted. The Commander-in-Chief, 
Sir Douglas Haig, is said to have made a most inter- 
esting estimate of the qualities of the soldiers of the 
three home races under his command, The Irish are 
best for brilliant and rapid attack, and the English 
are best for holding a position against heavy on- 
slaughts. The Scottish, he thinks, are not quite so 
fiery and dashing in assault as the Irish, but they are 
more so than the English, and not quite so tenacious 
in holding on under tremendous fire as the English, 
but they are more so than the Irish. 

It is this combination of attributes which enables the 
British Army, more perhaps than any other army, 
to get out of a desperate situation with superb serenity 
and honour. There is an old saying that it never 
knows when it is beaten. Soult, Marshal of France, 
whose brilliant tactics in the Peninsular War so often 
countered the consummate strategy of Wellington and 
the furious dash of the Irish infantry, bore testimony 
in a novel and vivid way to this trait of the British. 
"They could not be persuaded they were beaten," he 
said. "I always thought them bad soldiers," he also 
said. "I turned their right, pierced their centre, they 
were everywhere broken ; the day was mine ; and yet 
they did not know it and would not run." 

Any other troops, in a hopeless pass, would retreat 
or surrender, and would do so without disgrace. There 
are numberless instances in British military history 
where our troops, faced with fearful odds, stood, mag- 
nificently stubborn, with their backs to the wall, as it 
were, willing to be fired at and annihilated rather than 
give in. Mr. John Redmond tells a story of a reply 
given by an English General when asked his opinion 



60 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

of the Irish troops. "Oh," he said, "they are mag- 
nificent fighters, but rotten soldiers. When they receive 
an order to retire their answer is, ' Be damned if we 
will.' " I may add, in confirmation of this story, that 
one of the incidents of the retreat from Mons, which 
was the subject afterwards of an inquiry by the military 
authorities, was the refusal of a few hundred men of 
a famous Irish regiment to retire from what appeared 
to be an untenable position, much less to surrender, 
one or other of which courses was suggested by their 
superior officer. The answer of the men was as stun- 
ning as a blow of a shillelagh, or as sharp as a bayonet 
thrust. "If we had thrown down our arms," one of 
them said to me, "we could never have shown our 
faces in Ireland again." 

Racial distinctions are to be seen on the weak side 
as well as on the strong side of character. Each nation- 
ality, regarded as fighters, has therefore its own par- 
ticular failing. The Irish are disposed to be fool- 
hardy, or heedless of consequences. It is the fault of 
their special kind of courage. "The British soldier's 
indifference to danger, while it is one of his finest 
qualities, is often the despair of his officers," says 
Mr. Valentine Williams, one of the most brilliant 
and experienced of war correspondents, in his book, 
With our Army in Flanders, and he adds, "The Irish 
regiments are the worst. Their recklessness is pro- 
verbial." They are either insensible to the perils they 
run, or, what is more likely, contemptuous of them. 

I have been given several examples of the ways they 
will needlessly expose themselves. Though they can 
get to the rear through the safe, if wayward, windings 
of the communication trenches, it is a common thing 
for them to climb the parapets and go straight across 
the open fields under fire so as to save half an hour. 
To go by the trenches, they will argue, doubles the 
time taken in getting back without halving the risk. 



COMBATIVENESS OF IRISH SOLDIER 61 

In like manner, they prefer to go down a road swept 
by the enemy's artillery, which leads direct to their 
destination, rather than waste time by following a 
secure but circuitous way round. There is an Irish 
proverb against foolhardy risks which says it is better 
to be late for five minutes than dead all your lifetime, 
but evidently it is disregarded by Irish soldiers at the 
Front. 

An English officer in the Royal Irish Regiment 
writes : " Really the courage and cheerfulness of our 
grand Irish boys are wonderful. They make light of 
their wounds, and, owing to their stamina, make rapid 
recoveries. The worst of them is they get very care- 
less ot the German bullets after a while and go wan- 
dering about as if they were at home." Another 
English officer begins an amusing story of an Irish 
orderly in an English regiment with the comment : 
"I shall never now believe that there is on this 
earth any man to beat the Irish for coolness and 
pluck." The officer was in his dug-out, and first 
noticed the Irishman chopping wood to make a fire 
for cooking purposes on a road which was made dan- 
gerous during the day by German snipers. He re- 
marked to another officer, " By Jove ! that man will get 
shot if he isn't careful." "No sooner had I said the 
word," he writes, "when a bullet splattered near his 
head. Then another between his legs. I saw the 
mud fly where the bullet struck. The man, who is 
the Captain's servant, turned round in the direction 
of the sniper and roared, ' Good shot, Kaiser. Only 
you might have hit me, though, for then I could have 
gone home.' After this the orderly proceeded to roast 
a fowl, singing quite unconcernedly, * I often sigh for 
the silvery moon.' Another bullet came and hit him 
in the arm. He roared with delight ; and, as he basted 
the fowl, exclaimed, ' Oh, I'm not going to lave you, 
me poor bird.' The officer shouted to him to come 



62 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

into the dug-out. He did so, but when he had licked 
the wound in his arm, and bound it up, he said he 
must get the fowl, or it would be overdone; and before 
the officer could utter a word of protest, he ran across 
the road to the fire, started singing again, though the 
bullets, once more, came whistling past his ear. When 
he returned to the dug-out with the fowl nicely roasted 
he remarked cheerily, ' People may say what they 
like, but them Germans are some marksmen, after 
all.' " 

The whimsical side of Irish daring is further illus- 
trated by a story of some men of the Royal Munster 
Fusiliers. To while away the time in the trenches 
one night they made bets on doing this or that. 
One fellow wagered a day's pay that he would go 
over to the German lines and come back with a maxim 
gun, which was known to be stationed at a particular 
point. In the darkness he wriggled across the inter- 
vening space on his stomach, and, coming stealthily 
upon the guard, stabbed him with a dagger. Then 
slinging the maxim across his shoulder, he crawled 
safely back to the trenches. "Double pay to-day ! " 
he cried to the comrade he made the bet with. "But 
you haven't won," said the other. "Where's the 
machine's belt and ammunition ? " The next night 
he sallied forth on his belly again, and returned with 
the complete outfit. The spirit of the anecdote is 
true to the Irish temperament, though the episode 
it records may be fanciful. There is no doubt that 
things of the kind are done very frequently by Irish 
soldiers. They call it "gallivanting"; and the mood 
takes on an air of, say, recklessness which, at times, 
seems very incongruous against the frightful back- 
ground of the war. 

The very root of courage is forgetfulness of self. 
Self-consciousness is, in no great degree, an Irish 
failing, or virtue, either, if it is to 6e regarded as such. 



COMBATIVENESS OF IRISH SOLDIER 63 

Especially when he is absorbed in a martial adventure, 
the Irishman has no room 1 in his mind left for a 
thought of being afraid, or even nervous. He likes 
the thrill of movement, the fierce excitement of ad- 
vancing under fire for a frontal attack on the enemy, 
the ferocity of a contest at close grips. This is the 
temperament that responds blithely to the whistle — 
"Over the parapets ! " His blood is stirred when the 
actual fighting begins, and as it progresses he is 
carried more and more out of himself. The part of 
warfare repugnant to him, most trying to his temper, 
is that of long watching and waiting. For the work 
of lining the trenches a different kind of courage is 
required. The slush, the miseries, the herding to- 
gether, the cramped movements, are enough to drive 
all the heat out of the blood. The qualities needed 
for the severe and incessant strain of this duty are an 
immovable calm, a tireless patience, an endurance 
which no hardships can break down. Here the Eng- 
lish and the Scottish shine, for by nature they are. 
more disciplined, more submissive to authority, and 
they hold on to the end with an admirable blend of 
good-humour and doggedness. On the other hand, I 
am told, on the authority of an officer of the Welsh 
Guards, that when the Irish Guards are in the trenches 
they find the long dreary vigil and the boredom of 
inaction so insupportable that it is a common thing 
for parties of them to go to the officer in command 
and say, "Please, sir, may we go out and bomb the 
Germans ? " 

As Lord Wolseley had "the Irish drop in him," 
perhaps it is not to be wondered at that he discounts 
the old proverb that the better part of valour is dis- 
cretion. "There are a great many men," he writes, 
"who pride themselves upon simply doing their duty 
and restricting themselves exclusively to its simple 
performance. If such a spirit took possession of an 



64 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

army no great deeds can ever be expected from it." 
What more can one do, it may be asked, than one's 
duty ? Evidently Lord Wolseley would have duty on 
the battlefield spiced or gingered with audacity. The 
way the Irish look at it is well illustrated, I think, 
in a letter which I have seen from a private in a 
Devon regiment. He states that while he and some 
comrades were at an observation post in a trench near 
the enemy's line six Germans advanced close to them, 
and though they kept firing at them they could not 
drive them back. "Two fellows of the Royal Irish 
Rifles came up," continues the Devon man, "and 
asked us what was on. We told them. Then one 
turned round to the other and said, ' Come on, Jim, 
sure we'll shift them.' Then the two of them fixed 
their bayonets and rushed at the Germans. You would 
have laughed to see the six Germans running away 
from the two Irishmen." We have here an exhibition 
of the spirit of the born fighter who does not stop to 
count the odds or risks too cautiously. The incident 
recalls, in a sense, the scene depicted by Shakespeare 
in King Henry V at the camp before Harfleur, 
France, when Fluellen the Welshman — all shilly- 
shallying and dilly-dallying in enterprise — wants to 
argue with Captain Macmorris, the Irishman, con- 
cerning the disciplines of war. But the Irishman 
wants not words but work. Away with procrastina- 
tion ! So he bursts out, in Shakespeare's most 
uncouth imitation of the brogue — 

" It is no time to discourse, so Chrish save me : the day is 
hot, and the weather, and the wars and the King, and the 
dukes : it is no time to discourse. The town is beseeched, 
and the trumpet call us to the breach, and we talk, and, be 
Chrish, do nothing; 'tis shame for us all : so God sa' me 'tis 
shame to stand still; it is shame by my hand; and there is 
throats to be cut, and works to be done ;^ and there isn't 
nothing done, so Chrish sa' me, la ! " 



COMBATIVENESS OF IRISH SOLDIER 65 

Lord Wolseley also lays greater store on the spon- 
taneous courage of the blood, the intuitive or uncon- 
scious form of courage, which is peculiarly Irish, than 
on moral courage, the courage of the mind, the 
courage of the man who by sheer will-power masters 
his nervous system and the shrinking from danger 
which it usually excites. In Lord Wolseley 's opinion 
the man who is physically brave — the man of whom 
it may often be said that he has no sense of fear 
because he has no perception of danger — is the true 
military leader who draws his men after him to the 
achievement of deeds at which the world wonders. 

That is the kind of courage which of old led the 
mailed knight, bent on a deed of derring-do, to cleave 
his way with sword or battle-axe to the very heart of 
the enemy's phalanx for the purpose of bringing their 
banner to the ground, or dealing them a more vital 
blow by slaying their commander. There may be 
little opportunity in trench warfare and in duels 
between heavy guns, both sides concealed behind the 
veils of distance, for such a show of spectacular 
bravery. War is no longer an adventure, a game or 
a sport. It is a state of existence, and what is needed 
most for its successful prosecution, so far as the indi- 
vidual fighter is concerned, is a devotion to duty 
which, however undramatic, never quails before any 
task to which it is set. 

But the Irish soldier still longs for the struggle to 
the death between man and man, or, better still, of 
one man against a host of men. At dawn one day a 
young Irish soldier, inexperienced and of a romantic 
disposition, took his first turn in the trenches. He 
had come up filled with an uplifting resolve to do 
great things. The Germans immediately began a 
bombardment. The lad at first was filled with vague 
wonderments. He was puzzled especially by the 
emptiness of the battlefield. He had in mind the 



66 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

opposing armies moving in sight of each other, as 
he had seen them in manoeuvres. Where was the 
enemy? Whence came these shells? Then the in- 
visibility of the foe, and this mechanical, impersonal 
form of righting appalled him. One of his comrades 
was blown to pieces by his side. A dozen others 
disappeared from view in an upheaval of the ground. 
This was a dastardly massacre and not manly warfare, 
thought the youth. 

He could stand the ordeal no longer. He ran, 
bewildered, up the trench, shouting " Police ! police ! " 
"Hello, there; what are you up to?" said an officer, 
barring the way. "Oh, sir," cried the young soldier, 
"there's bloody murder going on down there below, 
and I am looking for the police to put an end to it." 



CHAPTER VI 
WITH THE TYNESIDE IRISH 

OVER THE HEIGHTS OF LA BOISELLE, THROUGH BAILIFF'S 
WOOD TO CONTALMAISON 

The men of the Tyneside Irish battalions stood to 
arms in the assembly trenches by the Somme on the 
morning of July i, 1916. Suddenly the face of the 
country was altered, in their sight, as if by a frightful 
convulsion of Nature. Their ears were stunned by 
shattering explosions, and looking ahead, they saw 
the earth in two places upheaving, hundreds of feet 
high, in black masses of smoke. The ground rumbled 
under their feet, so that many feared it would break 
apart and bring the parapets down on top of them. 
Two mines had been sprung beneath the first line of 
the German trenches to the south-west and north-east 
of the heap of masonry and timber that once had 
been the pretty little hamlet of La Boiselle. It was 
the signal to the Division, which included the Tyne- 
side Irish, that the hour of battle had come. 

The part in the general British advance allotted to 
the Division was first to seize the heights on which 
La Boiselle stood. This was a few miles beyond the 
town of Albert, held by the Allies, on the main road 
to the town of Bapaume, in the possession of the Ger- 
mans. Thence they were to move forward to Bailiff's 
Wood, to the north-west of Contalmaison, and to a 
position on the cross-roads to the north-east of thai 

67 



68 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

village. Contalmaison lay about four miles distant, 
almost in ruins amid its devastated orchards, and 
with the broken towers of its chateau standing out 
conspicuously at the back. One brigade had to take 
the first line of German trenches, other battalions of 
the Division had to take the second and third lines, 
after which the Tyneside Irish were to push on over 
all these lines to the farthest point of the Brigade's 
objective, the second ridge on which Contalmaison 
stood, where they were to dig themselves in and 
remain. 

The Tyneside Irish had already had their baptism 
of fire, and had proved themselves not unworthy of 
the race from which they have sprung. Captain 
Davey — formerly editor of the Ulster Guardian (a 
Radical and Home Rule journal) — records a stirring 
incident of St. Patrick's Day, 1916. On the night 
of March 15-16 a German patrol planted a German 
flag in front ot the Tyneside Irish, half-way across 
"No Man's Land." It was determined to wipe out 
the insult. During the day snipers were allowed to 
amuse themselves firing at the flag, and it was not 
long before a lucky shot smashed the staff in two, and 
left the German ensign trailing in the dust. But the 
real work was reserved for the night. There were 
abundance of volunteers, but Captain Davey, with 
pride in his own province, selected an Ulsterman for 
the adventure. The man chosen was Second-Lieu- 
tenant C. J. Ervine, of Belfast. Mr. Ervine, sup- 
ported by two Tyneside Irishmen, set out on the eve 
of St. Patrick's Day, and entered the gloomy depths 
of "No Man's Land." An hour passed and they 
returned — but without the flag. The enemy was too 
keenly on the alert. But in the early hours of St. 
Patrick's Day Lieutenant Ervine set off again — this 
time by himself. What happened is thus described 
by Captain Davey — 



WITH THE TYNESIDE IRISH 69 

" For an hour and a half we waited for his return, expecting 
each minute to hear the confounded patrol and machine-gun 
making the familiar declaration that ' We will not have it.' 
So keen were the sentries that even when relieved they would 
not leave their posts. After an hour had passed, Mr. Ervine's 
sergeant, getting impatient, went over the parapet and crawled 
to our wire so as to see better. Punctually at a quarter to 
three a German star-light went up, and by it we could see a 
dark form making in our direction. In five minutes it reached 
our wire, and in ten it was over the parapet. The Germans 
had been caught napping. In less than half an hour, while 
the spoiler of the Huns stood by in the crude garb of a High- 
lander in trench boots — for he had fallen into a ditch full of 
water on the way and we bring no change of clothing to the 
trenches — another officer and myself had erected a flagstaff 
in a firing-bay and nailed to it was the German ensign, while 
above it floated a green flag with the harp which had been 
presented to our company before we left home. And so we 
ushered in St. Patrick's Day !" 

Captain Davey proceeds — 

" Proudly the green banner floated out, while, of course, we 
flattered ourselves that the black, white and red of Prussia hung 
its head in shame below. It was not long before the Germans 
showed that they were wide awake at last, and the bullets 
began to sing about our newly-erected monument to Ireland 
and Ireland's patron saint. But it was a stout flagstaff, and 
though dozens of bullets struck it, nothing short of a shell 
could have shifted it. And there it stood all day with the 
Green above the Black, White and Red. It was no longer 
a case of ' Deutschland ' but of ' Ireland Uber Alles.' I don't 
know if any similar sight has been seen in a British trench. 
I know the green flag has led Irish troops to victory in this war, 
but I think this is the first time the spectacle has been seen 
of the Irish ensign hoisted above a captured German flag. 
At any rate the spectacle was sufficiently novel to cause us 
to have admiring visitors all day long from other parts of the 
line." 

Unfortunately there is a sad pendant to this story 
of St. Patrick's Day at the Front. Lieutenant Ervine, 
the gallant hero of the exploit, died from wounds. 

The country which faced the Tyneside Irish on July 1 , 



7 o THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

1 916, had been an agricultural country, inhabited by 
peasant cultivators before the war. The ravages of 
war had turned it into a barren waste. The productive 
soil was completely swept away. Nothing remained 
but the raw, elemental chalk. It was bare of vegeta- 
tion, save where, in isolated spots, the hemlock, the 
thistle, and other gross weeds, proclaimed the rank- 
ness of the ground, and also that the processes of 
Nature ever go on unchecked, even in a world con- 
vulsed by human hate. Not only were the villages 
pounded into rubbish by gun-fire, but the woods — also 
numerous in these parts — appeared, as seen from a dis- 
tance, to be but mere clusters of gaunt and splintered 
tree stumps devoid of foliage. Not a human being 
was to be seen. Yet that apparently empty waste was 
infested with men — men turned into burrowing ani- 
mals like the badger, or, still more, like the weasel, so 
noted for its ferocious and bloodthirsty disposition. 
In every shattered wood, in every battered hamlet, in 
all the slopes and dips by which the face of the 
country was diversified, they lie concealed, tens of 
thousands of them, in an elaborately and cunningly 
contrived system of underground defences, armed with 
rifles, bombs, machine-guns, trench-mortars, and 
ready to spring out, with all their claws and teeth 
displayed, on the approach of their prey, the man in 
khaki. But, as things turned out, the man in khaki 
pared the nails of Fritz, and broke his jawbone. 

"Before starting, and when our guns were at their 
heaviest, there was a good deal of movement, up and 
down, and talking in the trenches. A running fire of 
chaff was kept up, and there was many a smart reply, 
for Irish wit will out even in the face of death,*' said 
Lieutenant James Hately, who was wounded in that 
battle. "Some of the fellows were very quiet, but 
none the less determined. Most of us were laughing. 
At the same time I felt sorry, for the thought would 



WITH THE TYNESIDE IRISH 71 

obtrude itself on my mind that many of the poor chaps 
I saw around me would never see home again. As 
for myself, curiously enough, it never occurred to me 
that I would even be hit. Perhaps that was because 
I am of a sanguine or optimistic disposition. I 
started off, like many another officer, with a cigarette 
well alight. Many of the men were puffing at their 
pipes. Officers and men exchanged 'good-lucks,' 
1 cheer-ohs ' and other expressions of comradeship 
and encouragement." 

Many were, naturally, in a serious mood. They 
felt too near to death for the chaff of the billets or 
trenches to be seemly. They thought of home, of 
dear ones, of life in the workshops and offices of New- 
castle and Sunderland, and the gay companions of 
favourite sports and amusements, and, more poignant 
still, some recalled the last sight of the cabin in Don- 
egal, before turning down the lane to the valley and 
the distant station, on their way to> try their fortune 
in England. Thus there was some restlessness and 
anxiety, but the company officers in closest touch with 
the men agree that the general mood was eagerness 
to get into grips with the enemy, and relish for the 
adventure, without any great concern as to its results 
to themselves individually. When the command was 
given, "up and over," the Brigade, in fact, was like 
a huge electric battery fresh from a generating station, 
for its immense driving force and not less for the lively 
agitation of its varied emotions. Up and over the 
battalions went, and moved forward in successive 
waves, the men in single file abreast, the lines about 
fifty yards apart. For about two hundred yards or 
so nothing of moment happened. Then they came 
under heavy fire. Shells burst about them, shrapnel 
fell from above, bullets from rifle and machine-gun 
tore through the air, or caused hundreds of little spurts 
of earth to leap and dance about their feet. One of 



72 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

the men told me that the shrieking and hissing of 
these deadly missiles reminded him of banshees and 
serpents, a confused and grotesque association appro- 
priate to a battlefield as to a nightmare. 

It must not be supposed that everything was carried 
with a rush and a shout, at point of the bayonet. An 
impetuous advance is what the men would have liked 
best. It would be most in tune with the ardour of 
their feelings, and less a strain on their nerves. But 
there were many reasons why that was impossible. 
The country, in its natural formation, was upward 
sloping, and all dips and swells. It was broken up 
into enormous shell-holes and mine-craters, seamed 
with zigzag lines of white chalky rubble marking the 
German trenches, and strewn with the wire of de- 
molished entanglements, fallen trees and the wreckage 
of houses. The men were heavily equipped in what 
is called fighting order. They carried haversacks, 
water-bottles, gas-helmets, bandoliers filled with cart- 
ridges, as well as rifles and bayonets. Some were 
additionally burdened with bombs and hand grenades. 
Behind them came the working parties with entrench- 
ing tools, such as picks and shovels. Accordingly, 
the physical labour of the advance alone was tre- 
mendous. It would have been stiff and toilsome work 
for the strongest and most active, even if there had 
been no storm of shot and shell to face besides. There 
was, furthermore, the danger in a too hasty progress 
of plunging headlong into the curtain of high explo- 
sives which the artillery, firing from miles behind, 
hung along the front of the infantry, lifting it and 
moving it forward as the lines were seen to advance. 

Nevertheless the men went on steadily, undaunted 
by the fire and tumult; and the shuddering earth; 
undaunted even by the spectacle of the dead and dying 
of the battalions which preceded them in the attack; 
shaken only by one horror — a horror unspeakable — 



WITH THE TYNESIDE IRISH 73 

that of seeing fond comrades of their own falling 
bereft of life, as in a flash, by a bullet through the 
brain or heart; or, worse still, just as suddenly dis- 
appearing into bloody fragments amid the roar and 
smoke of a bursting shell. Now and then men 
stopped awhile, trembling at the sight and aghast; 
and, under the sway of impulses that were irresistible, 
put their right hands over their faces as a protection 
to their eyes — an appeal, expressed in action rather 
than in words, that they might be mercifully spared 
their sight — or else made a sweeping gesture of the 
arm, as if to brush aside the bullets which buzzed 
about them like venomous insects. 

The pace, therefore, was necessarily slow. It was 
rather a succession of short rushes, a few yards at a 
time, with intervening pauses behind such shelter as 
was available in order to recover breath. The right 
soldierly quality is not to be over rash, but to adapt 
oneself to the nature of the fighting and its scene ; the 
circumstances of the moment, the ever-varying re- 
quirements of the action. Such an advance, what- 
ever precautions be taken, entails great sacrifices. 
Every life that is lost should be made to go as far as 
possible in the gaining of the victory. Foolhardy 
movements, due to unreflecting bravery, were accord- 
ingly discouraged. Advantage was to be taken of 
any cover afforded by the natural features of the 
country or the state into which it had been transformed 
by the pounding of high explosives. The influence 
of the officers, so cool and alert were they, so sug- 
gestive of capability in direction, was most reassuring 
and stimulating to the men. On the other hand, the 
officers were relieved by the intelligence, the amenable 
character of the men and their fine discipline, from 
the worry and annoyance which company commanders 
have so often to endure in the course of an action by 
the casual doings, and the lack of initiative on the 

D* 



74 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

part of those under their charge. Simple, biddable, 
gallant and faithful unto death, it was the wish of the 
Tyneside Irish that, if they were to fall, their bodies 
might be found, not in the line of the advance, but 
at the German positions to the north-west of Contal- 
maison, out of both of which they had helped to drive 
the enemy. 

But now the lines or waves of men which had left 
the trenches in extended formation were broken up 
into separate little bodies, all independently engaged 
in various grim tasks. They had mounted La Boiselle 
hill, and moved down into the valley which still inter- 
vened between them and Bailiff's Wood and Contal- 
maison. Thus they were in the very centre of the 
labyrinth of the enemy's system of defences. An air 
of intolerable mystery and sinister hidden danger 
hung over it. Was it not possible that those brutes, 
those dirty fighters, the inventors of poisonous gas, 
liquid fire and flame jets, who had established them- 
selves in the very vitals of the place, might not have 
other devilish inventions prepared for the wholesale 
massacre of their adversaries ? The thought arose in 
the minds of many, and caused a vague sense of appre- 
hension. The Germans, however, had no further 
hellish surprises. Even so, the place was baneful 
and noxious enough. The Germans had suffered 
terrible losses and were morally shaken by the artillery 
bombardment — gigantic, devastating, thunderous — 
which preceded the British advance. It is the fact, 
nevertheless, that most of the survivors had enough 
courage and tenacity left doggedly to contest every 
inch of the way. They lay concealed in all sorts of 
cunning traps and contrivances, apart from their de- 
molished trenches. Machinery on the side of the 
British — in the form of big guns — had done its part. 
The time had come for the play of human qualities, 
the pluck, the endurance and the stout arm of the 



WITH THE TYNESIDE IRISH 75 

British infantry man. Snipers had to be dislodged 
from their burrows; hidden machine-gun posts had 
likewise to be found out and silenced. So the men 
of the Tyneside Irish were rushing about in small 
parties, shooting, bayoneting, clubbing, bombing; and 
the triumphant yells which arose here and there pro- 
claimed the discovery of yet another lair of the foe. 

Many a stirring story of personal adventure could 
be told. Sergeant Knapp of Sunderland, who won 
his stripes in the advance, gives this account of his 
experiences — 

"I had just taken the machine-gun off my mate to give 
him a rest when ' Fritz ' opened fire on us from the left with a 
machine-gun, which played havoc with the Irish. Then I 
heard my mate shout, ' Bill, I've been hit/ and when I looked 
round I saw I was by myself; he, poor chap, had fallen like 
the rest. Now I had to do the best I could, so I picked up a 
bag of ammunition for the gun and started across ' No Man's 
Land.' Once I had to drop into a shell-hole to take cover 
from machine-gun fire. 

" After a short rest I pushed on again and got into the 
German second line. By this time I was exhausted, for I 
was carrying a machine-gun and 300 rounds of ammunition, 
besides a rifle and 120 rounds in my pouches, equipment, 
haversack and waterproof cape, so I had a fair load. I stopped 
there for a few minutes picking off stray Boches that were 
kicking about. Then along came a chap, whom I asked to 
give me a help with the gun, which he did. We had scarcely 
gone ten yards when a shell burst on top of us. I stood still, 
I don't think I could have moved had I wanted to. Then I 
looked around for my chum, but alas ! man and gun were 
missing. Where he went to I don't know, for I have not seen 
him or my precious weapon since." 

Who that has talked with many wounded soldiers 
has not found that often they are unable to give any 
coherent account of their own actions and feelings 
during a battle. In some cases it is due to an un- 
willingness to revive haunting memories, a wish to 
banish out of mind for ever the morbid, terrible and 



76 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

grotesque, the ugly aspects in which many experiences 
in battle present themselves, surpassing the night- 
mares of any opium eater. In other cases there is an 
obvious distaste for posing. All one gallant Irish 
Tynesider would say to me was, "Sure I only went 
on because I had to. Didn't the officers tell us before 
we left the trenches that there was to be no going 
back ? " He brushed aside everything he had done 
that terrible day which got him the Distinguished 
Conduct Medal, with the jocose assumption that he 
was but the most unheroic of mortals, that he went 
to a place where he would not have gone if he had had 
any choice in the matter. The incommunicativeness 
of the soldier is also due to the fact that he cannot 
recall his sensations. During an engagement his 
mind is in a whirl. He has no disposition to note his 
thoughts and feelings in the midst of the righting. 
In fact, few men can analyse the processes of their 
emotions in such a situation, either at the time or 
afterwards. As a rule, an overmastering passion 
possesses the soldier to stab, hack and annihilate the 
foe who want to take that life which he so greatly 
desires to preserve. All else is confused and blurred 
— a vague sense of desperate happenings shrouded in 
fire and smoke, out of which there emerges, now and 
then, with sharp distinctness, some specially horrible 
incident, such as the shattering of a comrade into bits. 
But I have met with cases still more strange, where 
the mind was a blank during the advance through the 
showering bullets and shrapnel and the exploding 
shells. Even the simplest process of the brain — 
memory, or self-consciousness — was dormant. The 
soldiers in this mental condition appear to have been 
like the somnambulist who does things mechanically 
as he walks in his sleep, and when aroused has an 
impression of having passed through some unusual 
experience, but what he cannot tell, so vague and 



WITH THE TYNESIDE IRISH 77 

formless is it all. Suddenly all the senses of these 
hypnotised soldiers became wide awake and alert. 
This happened when they caught sight of figures in 
skirted grey tunics and flat grey caps with narrow 
red bands, emerging from cavernous depths into the 
light of day, or unexpectedly came upon them crouch- 
ing in holes or behind mounds of earth away from 
the trenches. Germans ! Face to face with the 
Bosche at last ! The effect was like that of a sudden 
and peremptory blast of a bugle in a deep stillness. 
Each Irish Tynesider braced up his nerves for bloody 
deeds. "My life, or theirs," was the thought that 
sprang to his mind. Thus it was a scene of appalling 
violence. It resounded with the clash of bayonets; 
the crackle of musketry; the explosion of bombs; the 
rattle of machine-guns; and in that confusion of 
hideous mechanical noises were also heard the shriek 
of human anguish and the cry of victory. 

It was in a wood not far off Contalmaison that the 
fighting was most desperate and sanguinary of all. 
The place was full of Germans. The paths and 
glades were blocked or barricaded with fallen trees. 
Beneath the splintered and blackened trunks that were 
still standing, the undergrowth, freed from the atten- 
tions of the woodman in the two years of the war, 
was dense and tangled. Right through the wood 
were trenches with barbed wire obstructions. At 
its upper end were peculiarly strong outposts, which 
poured machine-gun fire through the trees and bushes. 
It was commanded by batteries on two sides — from 
Contalmaison on the right and Oviliers on the left. 
The attackers had to penetrate this dreadful wood, 
scrambling, tearing, jumping, creeping in the sultry 
and stifling heat of the day. There were ferocious 
personal encounters. The form of fighting was one 
of the most terrible to which this most hideous of 
wars has given rise. Probably there has been nothing 



78 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

like it since early man fought those horrid and extinct 
mammoth animals, the skeletons of which are now to 
be seen in museums, what time they were alive and 
savage and ruthless in their haunts in the primeval 
forest. 

The battle was marked by ever-varying vicissitudes 
of advance and repulse. "The German Guardsmen 
fought like tigers to hold it," is a phrase in one letter 
of an Irish Tynesider. Our own official despatches 
relating to the Somme battle also show that this part 
of the German front — Oviliers, La Boiselle, Bailiff's 
Wood, Contalmaison, Mametz Wood — was held by 
battalions of the Guards, composed of the flower of 
the youth of Prussia, and standing highest in the 
mightiest army in the world. These. were not the 
kind of men to put up their hands and cry " Kamerad, 
mercy ! " at the sight even of that pitiless and un- 
nerving thing — a bayonet at the end of a rifle in the 
hands of a brawny Irishman, with the fury of battle 
flaming in his eyes. They held on tenaciously, and 
gave blow for blow. A long bombardment, night 
and day, by modern heavy guns, is a frightful ordeal. 
Its ojects are, first, to kill wholesale; and, next, to 
paralyse the survivors with the fear of death, so that 
they could but offer only a feeble resistance to the 
advancing troops. Shaken and despairing men were, 
therefore, encountered — filthy, unshaven, vile-looking, 
and so mentally dazed as to act and talk like idiots. 
But they were not all like that. So well-designed and 
powerful were their subterranean defences that large 
numbers were unaffected by the visitations of the high 
explosives, and through it preserved their courage 
and their rage. Conspicuous among these were the 
Prussian Guards. They made furious efforts to stop 
the advancing lines of the Tyneside Irish, and that 
they were overpowered is a splendid testimony to the 
martial qualities of our men. Think of it ! Two years 



WITH THE TYNESIDE IRISH 79 

ago, or so, these young lads of various industrial call- 
ings^ — farm hands, railway porters, clerks, drapers* 
assistants, policemen, carters, messenger boys, miners 
— -would have regarded as preposterous the idea that 
at any time of what seemed to them to be their pre- 
destined humdrum existence, or in any period even 
of a conceivably mad and topsy-turvy world, they 
would not only be soldiers but would encounter the 
Germans on the fields of France ; and — most incredible 
phantasy of all — defeat the renowned Prussian Guards 
— men whose hearts from their earliest years throbbed 
high at the thought that they were to be soldiers; 
men highly disciplined and trained, belonging to the 
proudest regiments in the German Army, and always 
ready and eager for the call of battle. 

Bailiffs Wood and Contalmaison appear to have 
been the furthest points reached on the first day of the 
Battle of the Somme. If they did not then fall, the 
superb action of the Tyneside Irish made breaches in 
these strongholds which, when widened and deepened 
by subsequent assaults, led to their complete capture 
on July 10. As Captain Downey, an officer of the 
Tyneside Irish says : " Our men paved the way for 
various other British regiments who swept through 
some days later." A few companies of one of these 
battalions which got into Contalmaison on July 7, 
and were driven out, brought back some Tyneside 
Irish and Scottish that were imprisoned in a German 
dug-out in the village. They also found outside the 
village the bodies of several Tyneside Irish, gallant 
fellows who died in the attempt to push on to the 
point they had orders to reach. 

The effectiveness of the attack by the Brigade on 
July 1 depended a good deal upon the progress made 
by troops of other Divisions who were co-operating 
on both sides. "On our left flank the parallel Division 
was held up ; on our right the Division moved slowly," 



80 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

says an officer of the Irish Brigade. The difficulties 
of the advance would probably have held up indefi- 
nitely any other troops in the world. But there is 
never any danger of the momentum of an attack by 
Irish troops being weakened through excessive caution 
against what is called "over running." Indeed, it is a 
fault of their courage that they are sometimes prone to 
act with too much precipitation, and, in fact, on this 
occasion it was not so much that the Divisions to the 
right and left were behind time as that the Irish 
Brigade were somewhat ahead of it. The result, how- 
ever, was that the Irish Tynesiders were exposed on 
their right to a deadly enfilading fire that swept across 
from Oviliers, which was not yet in British posses- 
sion. Nevertheless, they did not stop. "No matter 
who cannot get on, we must." That was the order 
of the officers in command, and so dauntless was the 
response to it that by one o'clock the men got to a 
point in front of Contalmaison. Here what remained 
of the Brigade held on for some days and nights, 
until the reserves came to their relief on July 4. 

The casualties among all ranks were heavy. The 
officers, sharing every hardship and being foremost 
in every danger, suffered most grievously. "Our 
Brigadier, our colonels, our company commanders, 
were badly wounded. Every officer, with the excep- 
tion of two subalterns, was hit. Some were hit in 
no less than three places. Yet they carried on. Those 
too weak to walk crawled until they eventually gave 
up through loss of blood. The losses among the 
N.C.O.s were just as large." This is the testimony 
of Captain Downey. Lieut.-Colonel L. Meredith 
Howard of the Tyneside Irish was severely wounded, 
and died two days afterwards. Among the officers of 
the Brigade who fell in action was Second-Lieutenant 
Gerald FitzGerald. A brother officer says, "He died 
shouting to his men : ' Come on.' " His father was 
Lord Mayor of Newcastle the year in which the 



WITH THE TYNESIDE IRISH 81 

Brigade was raised. Other officers killed were 
Captain Kenneth Mackenzie of Kinsale, co. Cork, 
whose father was formerly an Irish Land Commis- 
sioner; Lieutenant Louis Francis Byrne of Newcastle, 
who was serving his articles as a solicitor when war 
broke out; and Lieutenant J. R. C. Burlureaux, a 
journalist. 

The disappearance of so many of the officers was 
enough to have dispirited and confused any body of 
men. Would it be possible for them to extricate 
themselves from the fearful labyrinth in which they 
were involved ? Would there be any of them left for 
the final dash at their objective? The non-commis- 
sioned officers rose splendidly to the emergency. One 
battalion had not far advanced when all the officers 
were shot down. Quartermaster-Sergeant Joseph 
Coleman took command and continued onward. Soon 
he found himself with only three men left. Every- 
thing seemed lost in his part of that scene of tumult 
and death but for his coolness and gallantry. He 
went back, gathered up the remnants of other scat- 
tered companies, and led a willing and eager band 
to the capture of the position put down to the battalion 
in the scheme of operations. For this Coleman got 
the Distinguished Conduct Medal, and had it pinned 
on his breast by General Munro, the Brigadier. 

When the Brigade was relieved, their return to the 
haven behind the lines was attended with almost as 
much danger as their advance to the hell beyond the 
ridge had been. As the men ascended the slope of 
La Boiselle, down which they had charged a few days 
before, the German machine-guns were still rattling 
from the opposite hill, and snipers were picking off 
the stragglers. The hideousness of the field of action 
had also increased. The devastated ground, with its 
shell-holes, its great gaping craters and its trenches, 
was now strewn with the unsavoury litter of the wake 
of battle — discarded rifles, helmets, packs, burst and 



82 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

unburst shells; boots, rags, meat-tins, bottles and 
newspapers. Such of the wounded as could walk at 
all limped along on the arms of comrades. Every one 
was inconceivably dirty. Down their blackened faces 
were white furrows made by their sweat. Thus they 
came back, the Irish Tynesiders, with bloody but 
unbowed heads. "I saw our battalions file out from 
their bivouac under cover of night, and, though each 
man knew of the deadly work before him, the ready 
jest and witty retort were as abundant as ever," writes 
Lieutenant F. Treanor, Quartermaster of one of the 
battalions of the Tyneside Irish, and a native of 
Monaghan. "In the dressing-stations afterwards I 
saw many of them, and there were still the same heroic 
fortitude and the exchange of comments, many grimly 
humorous, as that of one poor fellow who remarked, 
when asked if he had any souvenirs. ' Be danged, 
'twas no place for picking up jewellery.' " 

The Brigade received the highest praises from the 
Commander of the Army Corps and the Commander 
of the Division, as well as from their own General. 
The corps commander wrote : "The gallantry, steadi- 
ness and resource of the Brigade were such as to 
uphold the very highest and best traditions of the 
British Army." Major-General Ingouville- Williams, 
who commanded the Division, wrote to the Tyneside 
committee — 

"It is with the greatest pride and deepest regret 
that I wish to inform you that the Division which 
included the Tyneside Irish covered itself with glory 
on July i, but its losses were very heavy. Every one 
testifies to the magnificent work they did that day, and 
it is the admiration of all. I, their commander, will 
never forget their splendid advance through the 
German curtain of fire. It was simply wonderful, 
and they behaved like veterans. Tyneside can well 
be proud of them ; and although they will sorrow for 
all my brave and faithful comrades, it is some con- 



WITH THE TYNESIDE IRISH 83 

solation to know they died not in vain, and that their 
attack was of the greatest service to the Army on that 
day." 

Writing to his wife on July 3, 1916, Major-General 
Ingouville- Williams said: "My Division did glorious 
deeds. Never have I seen men go through such a 
hell of a barrage of artillery. They advanced as on 
parade and never flinched. I cannot speak too highly 
of them. The Division earned a great record, but, 
alas ! at a great cost." On July 20 he also wrote to 
his wife: "Never shall I cease singing the praises 
of my old Division, and I never shall have the 
same grand men to deal with again." A few days 
later Major-General Ingouville- Williams died for his 
country. 

Seventy-three officers and men of the Tyneside Irish 
received decorations. Four Distinguished Service 
Orders and twenty Military Crosses went to the 
officers, eight Distinguished Conduct Medals and 
forty Military Medals were received by the men, and 
a sergeant was awarded the high Russian decoration 
of the Order of St. George. Among the officers who 
received the Military Cross was Lieutenant T. M. 
Scanlan, whose father, Mr. John E. Scanlan, New- 
castle-on-Tyne, took a prominent part in the raising 
of the Brigade. Lieutenant Scanlan states that only 
eight men were left out of his platoon after July 1, 
and six of them were awarded honours. All honour 
to the Brigade ! Those who helped to raise the bat- 
talions — Mr. Peter Bradley and Mr. N. Grattan Doyle, 
the chairmen of the committee; Mr. Gerald Stoney and 
Mr. John Mulcahy, the joint secretaries — have reason 
to be proud of the magnificent quality of the men who 
responded to their call. Let it stand as the last word 
of the story of their achievement that they overthrew 
and trampled down the proud Prussian Guards, and 
relaxed the grip which Germany had held for two 
years on a part of France. 



CHAPTER VII 

THE WEARING OF RELIGIOUS EMBLEMS 
AT THE FRONT 

SPREAD OF THE EXAMPLE SET BY IRISH SOLDIERS 

" Nearly every man out here is wearing some sort of Catholic 
medallion or a rosary that has been given him, and he would 
rather part with his day's rations or his last cigarette than 
part with his sacred talisman." — Extract from a letter written 
from the Front by a non-Catholic private in the Hussars. 

The wearing of religious emblems by soldiers of 
the British Army is much talked of by doctors and 
nurses in military hospitals in France and at home. 
When wounded soldiers are undressed — be they non- 
Catholic or Catholic — the discovery is frequently made 
of medals or scapulars worn around their necks, or 
sacred badges stitched inside their tunics. It is a 
psychological phenomenon of much interest for the 
light it throws upon human nature in the ordeal of 
war. It shows, too, how war is a time when super- 
natural signs and wonders are multiplied. 

Testimony to the value of these religious favours 
as safeguards against danger and stimulants to en- 
durance and heroism was given in a most dramatic 
manner by Corporal Holmes, V.C., of the King's 
Own Yorkshire Light Infantry, who also holds the 
highest French decoration, the Medaille Militaire. 
He visited the Catholic schools at Leeds. All the 



WEARING OF RELIGIOUS EMBLEMS 85 

girls and boys were assembled to see him. One of 
the nuns told the children how Corporal Holmes won 
his honours during the retreat from Mons. He 
carried a disabled comrade out of danger, struggling 
on with his helpless human burden for three miles 
under heavy fire. Then taking the place of the driver, 
who was wounded, he brought a big gun, with terror- 
stricken horses, out of action, through lines of German 
infantry and barbed wire entanglements. At the 
crossing of the Aisne a machine-gun was left behind, 
as the bridge over which it was hoped to carry it was 
shelled by the enemy. Corporal Holmes plunged into 
the river with it, some distance below the bridge, and, 
amid shot and shell, brought it safely to the other 
bank. When the nun had finished recounting his 
deeds, Corporal Holmes unexpectedly turned back his 
tunic, and saying, "This is what saved me," pointed 
to his rosary and medal of the Blessed Virgin. 

There is the equally frank and positive declaration 
made by Lance-Corporal Cuddy of the Liverpool 
Irish (the King's Liverpool Regiment), who was 
awarded the Distinguished Conduct Medal for gal- 
lantry in saving life after the great battle of Festubert. 
He was in the trenches with his regiment. Cries for 
help came from some wounded British soldiers lying 
about fifteen yards from the German trenches. The 
appeal smote the pitying heart of Cuddy. He climbed 
the parapet of his trench, and, crawling forward on 
his stomach, discovered two disabled men of the 
Scottish Rifles. One of them had a broken thigh. 
Cuddy coolly bound up the limb, under incessant fire 
from the German trenches, and crawled back to his 
trench, dragging the man with him. Then, setting 
out to bring in the second man, he was followed by 
Corporal Dodd of the same battalion, who volunteered 
to assist him. On the way a bullet struck Dodd on 
the shoulder and passed out through his leg. Cuddy 



86 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

bandaged him and carried him safely back. Once 
more he crawled over the fire-swept ground between 
the trenches to the second Scottish rifleman. This 
time he took an oil-sheet with him. He wrapped it 
round the wounded man and brought him in also. 
All this was the work of hours. Not for a moment 
did this brave and simple soul flinch or pause in his 
humane endeavours. He seemed to be indifferent, or 
absolutely assured, as to his own fate. And he had 
the amazing good luck of going through the ordeal 
scathless, save for a slight wound in the leg. As is 
the way with soldiers, the comrades of Cuddy joked 
with him on his success in dodging the bullets of the 
bloody German snipers. "They were powerless to 
hit me. I carry the Pope's prayer about me, and I 
put my faith in that," he answered, in accordance 
with his simple theology. This prayer of Pope 
Benedict XV is one "to obtain from the mercy of 
Almighty God the blessings of Peace." 

Both soldiers were convinced, as Catholics, that, 
being under the special protection of the Heavenly 
Powers whose symbols they wore, they were safe and 
invincible until their good work was done. Psalm 
civ. speaks of God, "who maketh the sweeping winds 
his angels, and a flaming sword His ministers." Why 
should He not work also through the agency of the 
religious emblems of His angels and saints? With 
this belief strong within them, Holmes and Cuddy 
leaped at the chance of bringing comfort to comrades 
in anguish, and help to those sorely pressed by the 
enemy. 

There is another aspect of this question of the 
psychology of war. It is a boast of the age that we 
have freed ourselves from what is called the deadening 
influence of superstition. Nevertheless, since the 
outbreak of the war there has been an extraordinary 
revival of the secular belief in omens, witchcraft, in- 



WEARING OF RELIGIOUS EMBLEMS 87 

cantations and all that they imply — the direct influence 
of supernatural powers, of some sort or other, on the 
fortunes of individuals in certain events. One amiable 
form of it is the enormously increased demand for 
those jewellers' trinkets called charms and amulets, 
consisting of figures or symbols in stone and metal 
which are popularly supposed to possess powers of 
bringing good fortune or averting evil, and which 
formerly lovers used to present to each other, and 
wear attached to bracelets and chains, to ensure mutual 
constancy, prosperity and happiness. Even the 
eighteenth-century veneration of a child's caul — the 
membrane occasionally found round the head of an 
infant at birth — as a sure preservative against drown- 
ing is again rife among those who go down to the 
sea in ships. The menace of the German submarine 
has revivified the ancient desire of seafaring folk to 
possess a caul, which was laid dormant by the sense 
of security bred by years of freedom from piracy, and 
the article has gone up greatly in price in shops that 
sell sailors' requirements at the chief ports. Fortune- 
tellers, crystal-gazers, and other twentieth-century 
witches and dealers in incantations, who pretend to 
be able to look into the future and provide safeguards 
against misfortune, are being consulted by mothers, 
wives and sweethearts, anxiously seeking for some 
safe guidance for their nearest and dearest through the 
perils of the war. 

So far as the Army is concerned, the belief that 
certain things bring good luck or misfortune has 
always been widely held by the rank and file. For- 
merly there were two talismans which were regarded 
as especially efficacious in warding off evil, and par- 
ticularly death and disablement in battle. These 
were, in the infantry, a button off the tunic of a man, 
and, in the cavalry, the tooth of a horse, in cases 
where the man and the horse had come scathless 



88 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

through a campaign. A good many years ago the old 
words "charm," "talisman," "amulet," dropped out 
of use in the Army. The French slang word "mas- 
cot," which originated with gamblers and is applied 
to any person, animal or thing which is supposed to 
be lucky, came into fashion ; and some animal or bird 
— monkey, parrot, or goat, or even the domestic dog 
or cat — was appointed "the mascot of the regiment." 
But since the outbreak of the war the Army has 
returned to its old faith in the old talisman. A special 
charm designed for soldiers, called "Touchwood," 
and described as "the wonderful Eastern charm," 
has had an enormous sale. It was suggested by 
the custom, when hopes are expressed, of touching 
wood, so as to placate the fates and avert disappoint- 
ment, a custom which is supposed to have arisen 
from the ancient Catholic veneration of the true 
Cross . 

"Touchwood" is a tiny imp, mainly head, made of 
oak, surmounted by a khaki service cap, and with odd, 
sparkling eyes, as if always on the alert to see and 
avert danger. The legs, either in silver or gold, are 
crossed, and the arms, of the same metal, are lifted 
to touch the head. The designer, Mr. H. Brandon, 
states that he has sold 1,250,000 of this charm since 
the war broke out. Not long ago there was a curious 
scene in Regent's Park. This was the presentation 
of "Touchwood " to each of the 1200 officers and men 
of a battalion of the City of London Regiments 
(known as "The Cast-Irons") by Mdlle. Delysia, a 
French music-hall dancer, before they went off for 
the Front. Never has there been such a public exhibi- 
tion — uncontrolled and unashamed — of the belief in 
charms. Mr. Brandon has received numerous letters 
from soldiers on active service, ascribing their escape 
from perilous situations to the wearing of the charm. 
One letter, which has five signatures, says — 



WEARING OF RELIGIOUS EMBLEMS 89 

" We have been out here for five months fighting in the 
trenches, and have not had a scratch. We put our great 
good fortune down to your lucky charm, which we treasure 
highly." 

Thus we see that mankind has not outgrown old 
superstitions, as so many of us thought, but, on the 
contrary, is still ready to fly to them for comfort and 
protection in danger. The truth is that the human 
mind remains at bottom essentially the same amid all 
the changes made by time in the superficial crust of 
things. Man is still the heir of all the ages. Some 
taint of "the old Popish idolatries" survives in the 
blood of most of us, no matter how Protestant and 
rationalistic we may suppose ourselves to be. And 
now that the foundations of civilisation are disrupted, 
and humanity is involved in the coils of the most awful 
calamity that has ever befallen it, is it to be wondered 
at that hands should be piteously stretched out on all 
sides, and in all sorts of ways — unorthodox as well as 
orthodox — groping in the dark for protective touch 
with the unseen Powers who rule our destinies. 

It is in these circumstances that non-Catholic 
soldiers of the new Armies are turning from material- 
istic charms to holy emblems. It may be thought 
that this new cult is but a manifestation, in a slightly 
different form, of the same primal superstitious instinct 
of mankind as inspired the old, but as it has a religious 
origin and sanction and is really touched by spiritual 
emotion, it seems to me to be far removed from the 
other in spirit and intention. Non-Catholic soldiers 
appear to have been led into the new practice by the 
example of Catholic soldiers. These religious objects, 
commemorative of the Blessed Virgin and other saints, 
have always been carried about their persons by Irish 
Catholic soldiers, to some extent, as well as by 
Catholics generally in civil life. The custom is now 
almost universal among Catholic officers and men at 



9 o THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

the Front. It resembles, in a way, the still more 
popular practice of carrying photographs of mother, 
wife and child. Will it be denied that the soldier, as 
he looks upon the likenesses of those who cherish him, 
and hold him ever in their thoughts, does not derive 
hope and consolation from his consciousness of their 
watchful and prayerful love ? 

There are several little breastplates thus worn by 
Catholics to shield them from spiritual evil and bodily 
calamity. The chaplet of beads, known as the rosary, 
is well known. The brown scapular of St. Mary of 
Mount Carmel is made of small pieces of cloth con- 
nected by long strings, and is worn over the shoulders 
in imitation of the brown habit of the Carmelite friars. 
Then there are the Medal of Our Lady of Perpetual 
Succour, a reproduction of the wonderful picture dis- 
covered by the Redemptorist Order in Rome; and 
the Miraculous Medal of Our Lady, revealed by the 
Immaculate Virgin to Catherine Laboure, Sister of 
Charity of St. Vincent de Paul, in Paris. Another 
is the "Agnus Dei" ("Lamb of God"), a small disc 
of wax, impressed with the figure of a lamb supporting 
a cross, and blessed by the Pope, which is the most 
ancient of the sacramentals, or holy objects worn, 
used or preserved by Catholics for devotional pur- 
poses. But what is now perhaps the most esteemed 
of all is the Badge of the Sacred Heart. On an oval 
piece of red cloth is printed a picture of Jesus, stand- 
ing before a cross, with His bleeding heart, encircled 
by thorns and flames, exposed on His breast. The 
badge is emblematical of the sufferings of Jesus for 
the love of and redemption of mankind. It is the 
cognisance of a world-wide league, known as the 
Apostleship of Prayer, conducted by the Society of 
Jesus, and having, it is said, a membership of 
25,000,000 of all nations. The promotion of these 
special devotions in the Catholic Church has been 



WEARING OF RELIGIOUS EMBLEMS 91 

assigned to different Orders : such as the rosary to 
the Dominicans; the scapular to the Carmelites; the 
Way of the Cross to the Franciscans. So the spread 
of the devotion of the Sacred Heart is the work of the 
Jesuits. The headquarters of the Apostleship of 
Prayer in this country is the house of the Jesuits in 
Dublin, who publish as its organ a little monthly 
magazine called The Messenger. There has been so 
enormous a demand for the badge since the war broke 
out that the Jesuits have circulated a statement em- 
phasising that it is not to be regarded as "a charm 
or talisman to preserve the wearer from bullets and 
shrapnel." To wear it in this spirit would, they say, 
be "mere superstition." "What it stands for and 
signifies is something far nobler and greater," they 
also say. "It is, in a sense, the exterior livery or 
uniform of the soldiers and clients of the Sacred 
Heart of Jesus, King of heaven and earth, just as the 
brown scapular is the livery of the servants and 
soldiers of Mary, heaven's glorious Queen. As such 
it procures for those who wear it in the proper spirit 
the grace and protection of God; and the scapulars 
the special protection of Mary, much more than the 
livery or uniform of a country procures for those who 
fight under its flag the help and protection of the 
nation to which they belong." 

What is the attitude of the Irish Catholic soldier 
towards this religious movement as a means of pre- 
servation and grace in the trials and perils of war? 
I have read many letters from Irish Catholics on 
service in France, Flanders and the East in which 
the matter is referred to, and have discussed it with 
some of those who have been invalided home. Alt 
this testimony establishes beyond question that the 
mystical sense of the Irish nature, which has been 
developed to a high degree by the two tremendous 
influences of race and religion, leads the Irish 



9 2 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

Catholic soldier profoundly to believe that there is a 
supernatural interference often with the chances and 
fortunes of the battlefield in answer to prayers. 
Michael O'Leary, V.C., a splendid type of the Irish 
soldier in body and mind, gave a brief but pointed 
statement of his views on the matter. "A shell has 
grazed my cheek and blown a comrade by my side to 
pieces," he said, "though there was no reason, so far 
as I could see, but the act of God, why the shell 
should not have knocked my head off and grazed my 
comrade's cheek." 

The average Irish soldier probably knows nothing 
of the materialistic theory that Nature is a closed 
system ; that the laws of the universe are fixed and 
immutable; that no wearing of holy objects, and no 
amount of praying even, will ever disturb their uni- 
form mechanical working ; and that the sole reason 
why any soldier on the battlefield escapes being hit 
by a bullet or piece of explosive shell is that he was 
not directly in its line of flight. Such a doctrine 
would be regarded, at least by the simple and in- 
stinctive natures in the Irish ranks, as the limit of 
blasphemy. Their belief in the reality and power of 
God is most profound. God is to them still the lord 
and master of all the forces of Nature ; and the turning 
aside of a bullet or piece of explosive shell would 
be but the slightest manifestation of His almighty 
omnipotence. Mystery surrounds the Irish Catholic 
soldier at all times. His realisation of the unseen is 
very vivid. The saints and angels are his com- 
panions, not the less real and potent because they are 
not visible to his eyes. But it is on the field of battle 
that he is most closely enveloped by these spiritual 
presences. He is convinced that he has but to call 
upon them, and that, if he be in a state of grace, they 
will come to his aid as the ministers of God. So he 
prays that God may protect and save him, and he 



WEARING OF RELIGIOUS EMBLEMS 93 

wears next his heart the emblems of God's angels and 
saints. Thus he feels invincible against the powers 
of darkness in both the spiritual and material worlds. 
For these devotions have also the effect of putting 
him in train to receive submissively whatever fate God 
may will him. He knows that God can safeguard 
him in the fight if He chooses; and he believes that 
if God does not chose so to do it is because in His 
wisdom He does not deem it right. "Blessed be the 
holy will of God ! " The old, familiar Irish ejacula- 
tion springs to his lips, that variant of Job's unshakable 
trust in the Almighty : "Though He slay me, yet will 
I trust Him." Thus it is that the sight of his com- 
rades lying around him, dead and wounded, who 
prayed like him and, like him, carried rosary beads 
or wore the badge of the Sacred Heart, has no effect 
in shaking his belief in his devotions and his holy 
emblems. So when the hour of direst peril is at hand 
he is found not unnerved and incapable of standing 
the awful test. There is an ancient Gaelic proverb 
which says : " What is there that seems worse to a 
man than his death ? and yet he does not know but it 
may be the height of his good luck." Even if death 
should come, what is it but the shadowy gate which 
opens into life everlasting and blissful ? 

There are on record numerous cases of protection 
and deliverance ascribed by non-Catholics as well as 
Catholics to the wearing of religious emblems. The 
Sisters of Mercy, Dungarvon, Waterford, tell the 
story of the marvellous escape from death of Private 
Thomas Kelly, Royal Munster Fusiliers, at the first 
landing on the Gallipoli peninsula on April 25, 1915. 
Kelly had emerged with his comrades from the River 
Clyde — the steamer which had brought his regiment 
to the landing-place, Beach V — and was in the water 
wading towards the shore when this happened to 
him — 



94 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

" A bullet struck him, passing through his left hand, which 
at the moment was placed over his heart. The bullet hit 
and shattered a shield badge of the Sacred Heart, which was 
sewn inside his tunic, then glanced aside and passed over his 
chest, tearing the skin. The mark of its passage across the 
chest can still be plainly seen. The bullet then passed through 
the pocket of his tunic at the right-hand side, completely 
destroying his pay-book. When wounded he fell into the 
water, where he lay for about two hours under a perfect 
hurricane of bullets and shrapnel. In all that time, while 
his companions were falling on every side, he received only 
one slight flesh wound. He is now in Ireland, loudly pro- 
claiming, to all whom he comes in contact with, his profound 
gratitude to the Sacred Heart. He is quite recovered from 
his wounds, and expects soon to be sent to the Front. His 
trust in the Sacred Heart is unbounded, and he is fully con- 
vinced that the Sacred Heart will even work miracles for him, 
if they are necessary, to bring him safely home again." 

Private Edward Sheeran, Royal Irish Rifles, relat- 
ing his experiences in France, says — 

" We were waiting in reserve, and were shelled heavily 
before the advance. Four of us were lying low in the traverse 
of a trench. Every time I heard a shell approaching I said, 
' O Sacred Heart of Jesus, have mercy on us ! ' Just as I 
was reciting this ejaculation a shell burst in our midst. For 
a minute I was dazed, and when I surveyed the damage, 
imagine my surprise to find the man next to me blown to 
pieces, parts of him over me. Another never moved again 
to my knowledge, while the remaining one had his arms 
shattered. As regards myself, my pack was blown off my 
back, but all the injury I received was a very slight wound 
in the left shoulder. Thanks to the mercy of the Sacred Heart 
I was able to rejoin my battalion two days afterwards." 

"A very grateful sister," writing to the Irish Mes- 
senger, in thanksgiving for "a great favour obtained 
through Our Blessed Lady of Perpetual Succour," 
states — 

"My brother was ordered out to the war and was in the 
fighting line from the first. I sent him a miraculous medal 
of Our Blessed Lady and promised publication if he came back 



WEARING OF RELIGIOUS EMBLEMS 95 

safe. He has been in twelve battles and got nine^wounds, 
none dangerous, only on his hands and one leg badly broken. 
He was being carried off the field by his comrades and the shells 
were falling so fast that they had to leave him and fly 
for their lives. He lay there three hours, bleeding and faint, 
until he was picked up again, and, thanks to Our Blessed 
Lady's protection, he is now safe in a London hospital and 
making a speedy recovery." 

The brother of an Irish Catholic nurse in a British 
military hospital in France writes to the Irish 
Messenger — 

" I was speaking lately to my sister, the nurse to whom 
you sent the parcel of badges, beads, etc. She says if every 
parcel of badges did as much good as hers has done and is 
doing, you will have a big reward in eternity. The poor 
Irish and English Catholic lads in their torments find the 
greatest comfort in their beads and badges, and put more 
trust in the Sacred Heart than in surgeons and nurses. One 
poor man said : ' I know I am dying, but, nurse, write to my 
poor wife and tell her that my beads and a sip of Holy Water 
was my consolation. Tell her I put my trust in the Sacred 
Heart and die confident. Send her this old badge which I 
wore^all through the war.' " 

In Ireland there are tens of thousands of Catholic 
mothers, wives and sisters, ever praying for the safe 
return of their men from the Front, or else that they 
be given the grace of a happy death, and there is 
nothing that tends more to prevent them brooding 
when the day, the hour, the moment may come with 
a dread announcement from the War Office, than the 
consoling thought that these dear ones are faithful in 
all the dangers and emergencies of their life to the 
practices of their religion. That is why Private 
Michael O'Reilly, of the Connaught Rangers in 
France, writes to his mother: "I have the Sacred 
Heart badge on my coat and three medals, a pair of 
rosary beads and father's Agnus Dei around my neck, 
so jrou see I am well guarded, and you have nothing 



96 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

at all to fear so far as I am concerned." Even for the 
mother, death loses its sting when she gets news of 
her son which leaves her in no doubt as to his soul's 
eternal welfare. Here is a characteristic specimen of 
many letters from bereaved but comforted mothers 
which have been printed in The Messenger — 

" Dear Rev. Father, — I beg to appeal to you for my dear 
good son who was killed in action on the 25th of March, and 
who died a most holy death. I have heard from Father 
Gleeson that he died with his rosary beads round his neck 
and reciting his rosary. He got a gunshot wound in the head 
and lived several hours after receiving the wound. I know 
perfectly well that it was owing to his having St. Joseph's 
Cord about him that he got such a happy death and had the 
happiness of receiving his Easter duty on Sunday the 21st. 
He also had the Sacred Heart Badge, a crucifix, and his Blue 
and Brown Scapulars on him, so that I am content about the 
way he died. He is buried in Bethune cemetery. I am a 
subscriber to The Messenger, and my son was in the Apostle- 
ship of Prayer and used to get the leaflets in his young days 
at the school he was going to, taught by the Christian Brothers. 
He was twenty-one years and seven months the day of his 
sad death. He belonged to the Royal Munster Fusiliers." 

Some people, no doubt, will smile indulgently or 
mockingly — according to their natures — at what ap- 
pears to them to be curious instances of human cre- 
dulity. Others will cry out in angry protest against 
" Popish trumperies " ; " idolatrous practices " ; " fetish- 
ism." No religion can be truly understood from the 
outside. It must be lived in, within, to be appre- 
hended. But surely those who are not altogether cursed 
with imperfect sympathies — those, at least, who take 
pleasure in the happy state of others, will shout aloud 
in joy to know that there is something left — no matter 
what — to sustain and console in this most terrible time 
of youth's agony and motherhood's lacerated heart. 

It must not be supposed that the religious practices 
of the Irish Catholic troops are confined to the wearing 



WEARING OF RELIGIOUS EMBLEMS 97 

of scapulars, medals and Agnus Deis. There are 
among them, of course, many who attribute all kinds 
of phenomena to natural rather than to miraculous 
causes. By them, also, beads, medals and scapulars 
are venerated, and proudly displayed over their tunics 
— often, too, rosary beads are to be seen twisted round 
rifle barrels — as outward symbols of the spirit of their 
religion, as aids to worship, as bringing more vividly 
before them the God they adore and the saints whose 
aid they invoke. But their faith gives, in addition, to 
the Catholic troops the Mass, which is celebrated by 
the Army chaplains up at the Front in wrecked houses 
or on the open, desolate fields, and attended by many 
hundreds of men in silent and intent worship, the 
sacraments of Confession and Communion, and makes 
possible that solemn spectacle of the priest administer- 
ing the General Absolution, or forgiveness of sin, to 
a whole battalion, standing before him with bared and 
bowed heads, before going into action. All these 
religious scenes have greatly impressed non-Catholic 
soldiers. They wonder at the consolation and inspira- 
tion which Catholic comrades derive from their 
services and their symbols. They feel the loneliness 
and the dread of things. They are impressed by the 
number of wayside shrines, with Crucifixes and 
Madonnas, which have survived the ravages of war. 
In their hearts they crave for spiritual companionship 
and help which the guns thundering behind them 
cannot give any more than the guns thundering in 
front ; and they, too, put out their hands to grasp the 
supernatural presences, unseen but so acutely felt in 
the shadowy arena of war. If there was scoffing at 
a praying soldier in barracks, there is respect for him 
in the trenches. Non-Catholics join in the prayers 
that are said by Catholics. "Plenty of shells were 
fired at our trenches, but, thank God, no harm was 
done," writes an Irish soldier. "When the shells 



98 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

came near us we used to pray. Prayers are like a 
double parapet to them, I think. Yesterday we were 
reciting the Litany of the Sacred Heart while the 
shells were annoying us. I was reading the beautiful 
praises and titles of the Litany, and both my Protes- 
tant and Catholic mates were answering me with 
great fervour. I was just saying ' Heart of Jesus, 
delight of all the Saints, succour us,' when one shell 
hit our trench and never burst, and, furthermore, 
no shell came near us after that, for our opponents 
directed their attention elsewhere for the rest of the 
day." He adds that every night in the trenches the 
Rosary of the Blessed Virgin was recited; and the 
responses were given by non-Catholics as well as by 
Catholics. 

In like manner, non-Catholic soldiers are being 
weaned from the use of pagan charms and talismans, 
and are taking instead to the Catholic substitutes 
which have been blessed by the priest making over 
them the sign of the cross. Father Plater stated at a 
meeting of the Westminster Catholic Federation that, 
travelling in the south of England, he met in the 
train some soldiers of the Ulster Division, all Orange- 
men, and instead of consigning the holy father to 
other realms, as they probably would have done in 
other times and other circumstances, they actually 
asked him to bless their miraculous medals. There 
is an ever-increasing desire among them for medals, 
rosaries, and for holy pictures, such as the little prints 
of saints and angels which Catholics carry in their 
prayer-books. At the convents in London where the 
Badge of the Sacred Heart is to be had, Protestant 
soldiers are constantly calling to get it, and they tell 
stories which they had heard of wonderful escapes by 
those who wore it. One nun told me they cannot 
keep the supply abreast of the demand. For instance, 
she said that on the day I saw her a private of the 



WEARING OF RELIGIOUS EMBLEMS 99 

Royal Welsh Fusiliers got fifty badges for distribution 
in the regiment. 

Religious emblems have a warmth and intimacy 
about them which secular charms lack. They are 
regarded as representing real spiritual beings, saints 
and angels. Secular charms, on the other hand, are 
devoid of association with any potentate or power 
known or believed to exist in the other world, and 
seem still to possess something of the mingled sim- 
plicity and grossness of the first dawning of super- 
stition on the mind of the savage. The curiosity and 
interest of the non-Catholic soldier in these religious 
symbols being thus excited, the moment he handles 
one and examines its design, he feels a pleasant 
sensation of help and comfort, and a consequent 
increase in his vitality. He highly treasures his holy 
talisman. Should he pass unscathed through the 
constant yet capricious menace of an engagement, he 
ascribes his luck to supernatural protection. As the 
English troops were passing through Hornu, near 
Mons, a young Belgian lady took a rosary from her 
neck and gave it to Private Eves of the West Riding 
Regiment, telling him to wear it as a protection 
against the bullets of the Germans. Eves, a non- 
Catholic Northumbrian, wore the rosary during the 
battle of Mons. "The air was thick with shells and 
machine-gun bullets," he says, "and how I escaped 
I don't know. A shell burst close to me. A piece 
of it struck my ammunition band and bent five car- 
tridges out of shape; but I escaped with only a bruise 
on the chest. I always say this rosary had something 
to do with it." 

Many stories of the like might be told. A driver 
of the Royal Field Artillery says : " I think I owe all 
my luck to a mascot which I carry in my knapsack. 
It is a beautiful crucifix, given me by a Frenchwoman 
for helping her out of danger. It is silver, enamel 



ioo THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

and marble, and she made me take it." Private 
David Bulmer of the Royal Engineers, an Ulster Pres- 
byterian, returned home on furlough to his parents at 
Killeshandra, wearing a rosary. He declared it was 
the beads that saved his life on the battlefield, as he 
was the only man left in his company. Sapper 
Clifford Perry has written to a Cardiff friend : 
"Rosaries are very popular here. I think I can safely 
say that four out of every ten men one meets wear 
them around their necks. Strange to say, they are 
not all Catholics. Those who are not Catholics do 
not wear them as curios or ornaments either, as upon 
cases of inquiry they attach some religious value to 
them even though they cannot explain what it is. 
Still, no one could convince them to part with them." 
Often the emblems and badges worn by non-Catholic 
soldiers are gifts from Catholic wives and children 
concerned for their spiritual and temporal well-being. 
"An Irish mother who trusts in the Sacred Heart" 
writes from Kensington in acknowledgment of the 
"wonderful escape" of her husband. "He had only 
gone out from a stable when a German shell knocked 
the roof in, killing his two horses, and also killing 
one man and wounding five others. My husband, 
who is a Protestant, is wearing a Sacred Heart Badge 
and the Cross belonging to my rosary. He has been 
saved during many battles from the most awful 
dangers, having been fighting regularly since Septem- 
ber 1914." Father Peal, S.J., of the Connaught 
Rangers serving in France, relating some of his ex- 
periences as a chaplain after a battle, says : "It was 
very solemn, creeping in and out among the wounded, 
finding who were Catholics. Some could not speak, 
others just able to whisper. One poor man lay on his 
face, with a hole in his back. He was actually 
breathing through this hole. I felt round his neck 
for his identification disc and found he had a medal 



WEARING OF RELIGIOUS EMBLEMS 101 

and Agnus Dei. I naturally thought he was a 
Catholic, but he whispered to me, ' Missus and the 
children did that.' We repeated an act of contrition, 
and I gave him conditional absolution." So it has 
come to pass that rosaries, which were formerly a 
monopoly of the religious repositories in French 
towns and villages, may now be seen displayed in 
every shop window, so great is the demand for them, 
and that "The League of the Standard of the Cross" — 
an Anglican society^ — has, up to the end of 19 16, sent 
out over 10,000 crucifixes to Protestant soldiers. 

The wearing of Catholic emblems by the rank and 
file is encouraged by many officers who understand 
human nature, and make allowance for what some of 
them, no doubt, would call its inherent weaknesses.. 
The practice has been proved to have on conduct a 
profound influence for good. It seems to incite and 
fortify the soldiers' courage. Man's will and resolu- 
tion often prove to be weak and fickle things, espe- 
cially on the field of battle, where they are put to the 
sternest and most searching of tests. Fear of death, 
which, after all, is but a manifestation of the primal 
instinct of self-preservation, often militates against the 
efficiency of the soldier. It disorganises his under- 
standing; it paralyses his power to carry out orders. 
The elimination of fear, or its control, is therefore 
part of the training of the soldier. How fortunate, 
then, is the soldier who can find such tranquillity in 
battle that he has passed beyond the fear of death. 
Psychologists tell us, such is the influence of the body 
upon the mind, that whether a man shall act the hero 
or the coward in an emergency depends largely on 
his physical condition at the time. The body of the 
soldier must, as far as possible, be made subordinate 
to his mind. Religious sensibility and emotion, in 
whatever form it may manifest itself, tends to the 
exaltation of the mental mood; and as good officers 



102 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

know they cannot afford to neglect any means which 
promises to steady their men, calm them and give 
them confidence in action or under fire, they have 
enlisted this tremendous force on their side by favour- 
ing and promoting the Catholic custom of wearing 
holy objects. 

A nun writing from a convent in South London 

says: "The colonel at sent twenty-two medals 

to Father X to be blessed. The Father took the 

medals to the barracks himself, where the colonel 
informed him that he wanted them for Protestant 
officers who were going to France." The girls of the 
Notre Dame Convent School, Glasgow, sent a parcel 
of 1200 medals to a Scottish regiment. They received 
a letter of thanks from one of the officers, in which he 
says : "You will be glad to know that most, if not all 
the men, Protestants though they be, have put your 
medals on the cord to which their identity discs are 
tied, so that Our Lady may help them." 

Thus is the wearing of scapulars and medals in the 
Army welcomed as an aid to our arms, a reinforcement 
of our military power. In it may be found the secret 
of much of the dash and gallantry of the Irish troops. 
Up to the end of 1916, 221 Victoria Crosses have been 
awarded for great deeds done in the war. As many 
as twenty-four have been won by Catholics, of whom 
eighteen are Irish, a share out of all proportion to their 
numbers, but not — may I say? — to their valour. In 
order to appreciate adequately the significance of these 
figures it is necessary to remember the nature of the 
deed for which the Victoria Cross is given. It must 
be exceptionally daring, involving the greatest risk 
to life. It must be of special military value, or must 
lead to the saving of comrades otherwise hopelessly 
doomed. Above all, it must be done not under orders 
but as a spontaneous act on the soldier's own motion. 
It is largely due to their religion and the emblems of 



WEARING OF RELIGIOUS EMBLEMS 103 

their religion, and their views of fate and destiny, 
that Irish Catholic soldiers are so pre-eminently dis- 
tinguished in the record of the highest and most noble 
acts of valour and self-sacrifice in war. There is the 
significant saying of Sergeant Dwyer, V.C., an Irish- 
man and a Catholic, at a recruiting meeting in Tra- 
falgar Square. "I don't know what the young men 
are afraid of," said he. "If your name is not on a 
bullet or a bit of shrapnel it won't reach you, any 
more than a letter that isn't addressed to you." He, 
poor fellow, got a bullet addressed to him on the 
Somme. "'Twas the will of God," was the lesson 
taught him by his creed. 



CHAPTER VIII 

THE IRISH SOLDIER'S HUMOUR AND 
SERIOUSNESS 

STORIES FROM THE FRONT, FUNNY AND OTHERWISE 

The memorable words of an Irish member, speaking 
in the House of Commons during the South African 
War, on the gallantry of the Irish regiments, come 
to my mind. "This war has shown," said he, "that 
as brave a heart beats under the tunic of a Dublin 
Fusilier as under the kilt of a Gordon Highlander." 

The saying may be curiously astray as to the 
anatomy of the Scotch, but the truth of it in regard 
to Irish courage has been emphasised by the victories 
and disasters alike of the great world war. On all the 
fields of conflict east and west the Irish soldiers have 
earned the highest repute for valour. "They are 
magnificent fighters," says Lieutenant Denis Oliver 
Barnett, an English officer of a battalion of the 
Leinster Regiment, in letters which he wrote home 
to his own people. A public school boy, with a high 
reputation for scholarship, he became a soldier at the 
outbreak of war instead of going to Oxford. Coura- 
geous and high-minded himself — as his death on the 
parapet of the trenches, directing and heartening his 
men in bombing the enemy, testifies — his gay and 
sympathetic letters show that he was a good judge of 
character. He also says of his men, "They are 
cheerier than the English Tommies, and will stand 

104 



HUMOUR AND SERIOUSNESS 105 

anything." Cheeriness in this awful war is indeed 
a most precious possession. It enhances the fighting 
capacity of the men. Where it does not exist spon- 
taneously the officers take measures to cultivate it. As 
far as possible they try to remove all depressing in- 
fluences, and make things bright and cheerful. I 
have got many such glimpses of the Irish soldier at 
the Front, and their total effect is the impersonation 
or bodying forth of an individual who provides his 
own gaiety, and has some over to give to others — 
whimsical, wayward, with a childlike petulance and 
simplicity; and yet very fierce withal. 

I met at a London military hospital an Irish Catholic 
chaplain and an Irish officer of the Army Medical 
Corps back from French Flanders. They told Irish 
stories, to the great enjoyment and comfort of the 
wounded soldiers in the ward. "Be careful to boil 
that water before drinking it," said the doctor to men 
of an Irish battalion whom he found drawing supplies 
from a canal near Ypres. "Why so, sir? " asked one 
of the men. "Because it's full of microbes and boil- 
ing will kill them," answered the doctor. "And 
where's the good, sir?" said the soldier. "I'd as 
soon swallow a menagerie as a graveyard any day." 
Another example of a quick-witted Hibernian reply was 
given by the chaplain. He came upon a man of the 
transport service of his battalion belabouring a donkey 
which was slowly dragging a heavy load. "Why do 
you beat the poor animal so much ? " remonstrated 
the priest ; and he recalled a legend popular in Ireland 
by saying, "Don't you know from the cross on the 
ass's back that it was on an ass Our Lord went into 
Jerusalem?" "But, Father," said the soldier, "if 
Our Lord had this lazy ould ass He wouldn't be there 
yet." One of the inmates of the ward kept the laugh- 
ter going by giving an example of Irish traditional 
blundering humour from the trenches — a humour due 

e* 



106 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

to an excited and over-active mind. "Don't let the 
Germans know we're short of powder and shot," cried 
an Irish sergeant to his men, awaiting the bringing 
up of ammunition; "keep on firing away like blazes." 

Some of the flowers of speech that have blossomed 
from the Irish regiments at the Front are also worth 
culling. Speaking of the Catholic chaplain of his 
battalion, a soldier said, "He'd lead us to heaven; 
an* we'd follow him to hell." As a loaf of bread 
stuck on a bayonet was passed on to him in the 
trenches another exclaimed, "Here comes the staff of 
life on the point of death." The irregularity of the 
food supply in the trenches was thus described : " It's 
either a feast or a famine. Sometimes you drink out 
of the overflowing cup of fulness, and other times you 
ate off the empty plate." "What have you there? " 
asked a nurse of an Irish private of the Army Medical 
Corps, at a base hospital, as he was rummaging 
among the contents of a packing-case. Taking out 
a wooden leg, he answered : " A stump speech agin 
the war." 

Good-humour at the Front is by no means an ex- 
clusively Irish possession. Happily the soldiers of 
all the nationalities within the United Kingdom are 
so light-hearted as to find even in the most dismal 
situation cause for raillery, pleasantry and laughter, 
and to derive from their mirth a more enduring 
patience of discomfort and trouble. The Irish form 
of humour, however, differs entirely from the English, 
Scottish or Welsh variety not only in quality but in 
the type of mind and character it expresses. In most 
things that the Irish soldier says or does there is 
something racially individual. Perhaps its chief pecu- 
liarity, apart from its quaintness, is that usually there 
is an absence of any conscious aim or end behind it. 
The English soldier, and the Cockney especially, is 
a wag and a jester. He is very prone to satire and 



HUMOUR AND SERIOUSNESS 107 

irony, deliberate and purposeful. Even his "grous- 
ing " — a word, by the way, unheard in the Irish regi- 
ments, unless it is somewhat incomprehensibly used 
by an English non-commissioned officer — is a form of 
caustic wit. Irish humour has neither subtlety nor 
seriousness. It is just the light and spontaneous 
whim, caprice or fancy of the moment. It is humour 
in the original sense of the word, that is the expression 
of character, habit and disposition. 

The Munstermen have contributed to the vocabulary 
at the Front the expressive phrase, "Gone west," for 
death; the bourne whence no traveller returns. In 
Kerry and Cork the word "west" or "wesht," as it 
is locally pronounced, expresses not only the myste- 
rious and unknown, but is used colloquially for 
"behind," "at the back," or "out of the way." So it 
is also at the Front. A lost article is gone west as well 
as a dead comrade. "When I tould the Colonel," 
said an Irish orderly, "that the bottle of brandy was 
gone wesht, he was that mad that I thought he would 
have me ate." As food and drink are sent west, 
perhaps the Colonel had his suspicions. The saying, 
"Put it wesht, Larry, an' come along on with you," 
may be heard in French estaminets as well as in Kerry 
public-houses. 

At parade a subaltern noticed that one of his men 
had anything but a clean shave on the left side of his 
jaw. " 'Twas too far wesht for me to get at, sir," was 
the excuse. "Well," said the dentist to a Munster 
Fusilier, "where's this bad tooth that's troubling 
you?" "'Tis here, sir," said the soldier, "in the 
wesht of me jaw." Another Irish soldier told his 
Quartermaster that he was in a very unpleasant pre- 
dicament for want of a new pair of trousers. "The 
one I've on me is all broken wesht," said he. It is 
fairly obvious what part of the trousers the west of 
it was. 



io8 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

It would seem from the stories I have heard that 
odd escapes from death are an unfailing source of 
playfulness and laughter. A shell exploded in a 
trench held by an Irish battalion. One man was 
hurled quite twelve feet in the air, and, turning two 
somersaults in his descent, alighted on his back, and 
but little hurt, just outside the trench. He quickly 
picked himself up and rejoined his astonished com- 
rades. "He came down with that force," said an 
invalided Irish soldier who told me of the incident, 
"that it was the greatest wonder in the world he didn't 
knock a groan out of the ground." No groan came 
from the man himself. "That was a toss and a half, 
and no mistake," he remarked cheerily when he got 
back to the trench ; and in answer to an inquiry 
whether he was much hurt he said, " I only feel a bit 
moidhered in me head." More comical still in its 
unexpectedness was the reply of another Irishman 
who met with a different misadventure from the same 
cause. A German 17-in. shell exploded on the parapet 
of a trench, and this Irishman was buried in the ruins. 
However, he was dug out alive, and his rescuers 
jokingly asked him what all the trouble was about. 
"Just those blessed snipers again," he spluttered 
through his mouth full of mud, "and may the divil 
fly away with the one that fired that bullet." 

It is readily acknowledged at the Front that the 
Irish soldiers have a rich gift of natural humour. 
But, what is more — as some of my stories may show — 
they are never so exceedingly comic as when they do 
not intend to be comic at all. Is it not better to be 
funny without knowing it than to suffer the rather 
common lot of attempting to be funny and fail ? It 
arises from an odd and unexpected way of putting 
things. How infinitely better it is than to be of so 
humdrum a quality as to be incapable of being comical 
even unconsciously in saying or in deed ! Yet in this 



HUMOUR AND SERIOUSNESS 109 

essentially Irish form of fun there is often a snare for 
the unwary. How can you tell that these laughable 
things are said and done by Irish soldiers without any 
perception of humour or absurdity? If you could 
look behind the face of that apparently simple-minded 
Irish soldier you might find that in reality he was 
"pulling your leg" — or "humbugging," as he would 
say himself — in a way that you would regard as most 
uncalled for and aggravating. 

For instance, an Irish sentry in a camp in France 
was asked by a colonel of the Army Service Corps 
whether he had seen any of his officers about that 
morning. "Indeed, and I did, sir," was the reply. 
" 'Twas only a while ago that two of the gintlemen 
came out of the office down there below, and passed 
by this way." "And how did you know they were 
Army Service officers? " "Aisy enough, sir. Didn't 
I see their swords stuck behind their ears ? " And in 
which category must be placed the equally amusing 
retort of another Irish sentry to his officer — the naively 
simple, or the slyly jocular ? The sentry looked so 
shy and inexperienced that the officer put to him the 
question, "What are you here for?" and got the 
stereotyped answer, "To look out for anything un- 
usual." "What would you call unusual?" asked the 
officer. "I don't know exactly, sir, until I saw it," 
was the reply. The officer became sarcastically face- 
tious. "What would you do if you saw five battleships 
steaming across the field?" he said. "Take the 
pledge, sir," was the sentry's answer. 

These officers are, by all accounts, but two of many 
who have got unlooked-for but diverting answers 
from Irish soldiers. A sergeant who was sent out 
with a party to make observations fell into an ambus- 
cade and returned with only a couple of men. "Tell 
me what happened," said the commanding officer, 
when the sergeant came to make his report; "were 



no THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

you surprised?" "Surprised isn't the word for it, 
sir," exclaimed the sergeant. "It was flabbergasted 
entirely I was when, creeping round the end of a thick 
hedge, we came plump into the divil of a lot of Ger- 
mans lying on their stomachs." Then, seeing the 
officer smiling, as if in doubt, as he thought, he 
hastened thus to emphasise his wonder and astonish- 
ment at this sudden encounter. "I declare to you, 
sir, it nearly jumped the heart up out of me throat 
with the start it gave me." Of a like kind for in- 
genuousness was the report made by another Irish 
non-com. who found himself all alone in a trench, 
with only a barrier of sandbags between him and the 
Germans. "I had nayther men, machine-gun or 
grenade," he wrote, expressing not only his temporal 
but his spiritual condition, for he added, "nothing, 
save the help of the Mother of God." 

In Ireland domestic servants are noted for their 
forward manners and liberty of speech with the family, 
and the same trait is rather general in the relations 
between different social grades. An illustration of 
what it leads to in the Army was afforded at a camp 
concert attended by a large assembly of officers and 
men of a certain Division, into which, at a solemn 
moment, an unsophisticated Irish soldier made a wild 
incursion. Lord Kitchener had been there that day 
and had inspected the Division, and the General in 
command announced from the platform how greatly 
pleased the Secretary for War was with the soldierly 
fitness of the men. "I told Lord Kitchener," con- 
tinued the General, speaking in grave and impressive 
tones, "that the Division would see the thing through 
to the bitter end." In the midst of a loud burst of 
cheering an Irish private rushed forward, and sweep- 
ing aside the attempt of a subaltern to stop him, 
jumped on to the platform, and seizing the aged 
General by the hand, exclaimed, "Glory to you, me 



HUMOUR AND SERIOUSNESS in 

vinerable friend ! The ould Division will stick to it 
to the last, and it's you that's the gran' man to lade 
us to victory and everlasting fame." The General, 
greatly embarrassed, could only say, "Yes, yes, to 
be sure, my good fellow ; yes, yes " ; and the staff 
turned aside to hide their grins at this comic encounter 
between incongruities. 

The Colonel of an Irish battalion, after a harassing 
day in the trenches, got a pleasant surprise in the shape 
of a roast fowl served for dinner by his orderly. 
After he had eaten it and found it tender he recalled 
that complaints were rather rife among the inhabitants 
about the plundering of hen-roosts, and his conscience 
smote him. "I hope you got that fowl honestly," he 
said. "Don't you be troubling your head about that, 
sir," replied the orderly, in a fine burst of evasion and 
equivocation. "Faith, 'twas quite ready for the 
killing, so it was, and that's the main thing." Then, 
as if to improve the occasion by a homily, he added, 
in a tone of religious fervour, "Ah, sure, if we wor 
all as ready to die as that hin, sir, we needn't mind 
a bit when the bullet came." The Colonel was almost 
"fit to die" with quiet laughter. 

It may well be that sometimes the English officers 
of Irish battalions are puzzled by the nature of their 
men — its impulsiveness, its glow, its wild imagery and 
over-brimming expression. It is easy to believe, too, 
that the changeful moods of the men, childlike and 
petulant, now jovial, now fierce, and occasionally un- 
accountable, may be a sore annoyance to officers who 
are very formal and precise in matters of discipline. 
I have heard from an Irish Colonel of an Irish bat- 
talion that the English commander of the Brigade of 
which the battalion was a unit came to him one day 
in a rage and asked him where his damned fools had 
been picked up. It appears the Brigadier-General, 
going the rounds alone, came suddenly upon one of 



ii2 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

the sentries of the battalion at a remote post. The 
sentry happened to be a wild slip of an Irish boy, not 
long joined and quite fresh from Mayo, and, taken by 
surprise, he challenged the Brigadier-General by 
calling out, "In the name of God, who the divil are 
you ? " The Colonel told me his reply to the Brigadier- 
General was this: "Certainly, the challenge and the 
salute were not quite proper. But you can imagine 
what kind of a reception that simple but fearless lad 
would give to a German ; and, after all, is not that the 
main thing just now ? " Yes, the capacity of righting 
well should, in war time, cover a multitude of imper- 
fections in a soldier. 

In order to get the best out of the Irish soldiers it 
is necessary to have a knowledge of their national 
habits and peculiarities, and a sympathetic under- 
standing of their qualities and limitations. I am glad 
to be able to say that the most glowing tributes to the 
sterling character of the Irish soldiers that I have 
heard have come from their English or Scottish 
officers. These are true leaders, because they possess 
imagination and sympathy by which they can look 
into the hearts of men that are diverse from them in 
blood and temperament and nature. 

I suppose there is nothing on earth, no matter how 
solemn or terrible, which may not be turned into a 
subject of irreverent humour in one or other of its 
aspects. English soldiers appear to have found that 
out even in regard to the war. An officer told me of 
a remarkable encounter on a Flanders high road 
between an Irish battalion coming back from the 
trenches and an English battalion going up for a turn 
at holding a section of the lines, which he thought 
presented a striking contrast in racial moods. The 
uniforms of the Irishmen were plastered with mud, 
and they had a week's grime on their unshaven faces. 
They had also suffered heavily in repelling a German 



HUMOUR AND SERIOUSNESS 113 

attack. Yet they looked as proud as if they had saved 
Ireland by their exertions, and hoped to save the 
Empire by their example, and they sang from the 
bottom of their hearts, and at the top of their voices, 
the anthem of their national yearnings and aspirations, 
with its refrain — 

" Whether on the scaffold high, or the battlefield we die, 
What matter when for Erin dear we fall," 

The English battalion, spick and span, swung by to 
horrible discomforts, to wounds and death, as blithely 
as if they were on a route march at home. They also 
were singing, and if they were in the same mood as 
the Irishmen they would be rendering the chorus — 

"Land of Hope and Glory, 

Mother of the Free, 
How shall we extol thee 

Who are born of thee ? 
Wider still and wider 

Shall thy bounds be set; 
God, who made thee mighty, 

Make thee mightier yet." 

But instead of that the chorus of their song, set to a 
hymn tune, was this — 

" Will you fight for England ? 
Will you face the foe? 
And every gallant soldier 
Boldly answered — NO ! " 

It has been said, with general acceptance, that the 
spirit of a nation can best be studied in its songs. 
But can it really ? How wrong would be the moral 
drawn from its application in this case ! High 
patriotism is a solemn thing; but the average British 
soldier's attitude towards it is like that of Dr. Johnson 
when he took up philosophy — "somehow cheerfulness 
was always breaking in." The English soldier will 



ii4 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

not sing songs of a lofty type and deep purpose — 
songs which express either intimate personal feeling 
or deeply felt national convictions. These emotions 
he hides or suppresses, for he cannot give vent to 
them without feeling shamefaced or fearing that he 
may be regarded as insincere. Yet he is by no means 
so inconsequential or cynical as he affects to be. He 
is animated — none more so — by the spirit of duty and 
sacrifice. When it comes to fighting he is in earnest, 
desperately and ferociously in earnest, as the Germans 
know to their cost. It seems to me that he has been 
misled by Kipling into supposing that the true pose 
of the British soldier is to be more concerned with the 
temporal than with the spiritual, to grumble about the 
petty inconveniences of his calling, to pretend to an 
indifference to its romantic side and its ideals, to die 
without thinking that the spirits of his national heroes 
are looking down upon him. 

The Irish have the reputation of having a delight 
in fighting. It is supposed that "ructions" are the 
commonplace of their civic life. Undoubtedly they 
have "a strong weakness" — as they would phrase it 
themselves — for distributing bloody noses and cracked 
crowns even among friends. It is true, also, that they 
find the grandest scope for their natural disposition in 
warfare. A war correspondent relates that he met a 
wounded Dublin Fusilier hobbling painfully back to 
the field dressing-station after a battle, and giving 
the man his arm to help him on, he was prompted to 
make the pitying remark: "It's a dreadful war." 
"'Tis indeed, sir; a dreadful war enough," said the 
soldier ; and then came the characteristic comment : 
"but, sure, 'tis far better than no war at all." 

Still, individuals are to be found among the Irish 
soldiers who take quite a materialistic view of the 
Army, and fail to rise to the anticipation of glory in 
a pending action. An agricultural labourer who had 



HUMOUR AND SERIOUSNESS 115 

become one of Kitchener's men was asked how he 
liked soldiering. "It's the finest life in the whole 
wide world," he exclaimed. "It's mate, drink, lodgin' 
and washin' all in one. Wasn't I working hard for 
ten long years for a farmer there beyant in Kerry, and 
never once in all that time did the ould boy say to me, 
* Stand at aise.' " It will be noticed that in this en- 
thusiastic outburst there is nothing about the divar- 
shion of righting. Another story that I heard records 
the grim foreboding of an Irish soldier who was 
lagging behind on the march to the trenches for the 
first time. "Keep up, keep up," cried the officer; 
and, by way of encouragement, he added: "You 
know, we'll soon make a Field Marshal of you." 
"You're welcome to your joke, sir," said the soldier; 
"but I know well what you'll make of me— a casualty, 
sure enough." Another Irish soldier thought he saw 
a way of making money out of the fighting. The 
Colonel of the battalion told his men, according to the 
story, that for every German they would kill he would 
give a sovereign. The next morning the men were 
told the Germans were coming. "How many?" 
"Thirty thousand at least." "Wake up, Mike," said 
one to a sleeping comrade; "our fortune is made." 

There is also a story told of a remark made by an 
Irish soldier regardless of the glory and romance of 
the highest distinction in the Army. The award of 
the Victoria Cross to Michael O'Leary was held up 
to a battalion for emulation. "Yerra," cried a voice, 
"I'd a great deal rather get the Victoria 'bus." It 
may be that in this we have nothing more than an 
instance of the impish tendency in the Irish nature 
displaying itself at the spur of the moment, rather 
than the yearning for home, its ease, repose and 
comforts. It recalls an anecdote of the American Civil 
War. General Thomas Francis Meagher of the Irish 
Brigade was informed by an aide-de-camp in the 



n6 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

course of a battle that the Federalists had carried an 
important strategic point and several colours belong- 
ing to Confederate battalions. "Here's good news 
for ye, boys," shouted Meagher. "Our troops have 
won the day and captured the enemy's colours." 
"Yerra, Gineral," cried a private, looking up at 
Meagher, who was on horseback, "I'd rather have, 
this blessed minute, half a pint of Dinnis McGure's 
whisky than all the colours of the rainbow." Then 
there is the story told by the Colonel of an Irish regi- 
ment of an incident in the Battle of the Somme. He 
noticed that a private followed everywhere at his heels, 
and especially where the fighting was hottest. The 
Colonel thought that perhaps the private was anxious 
to come to his aid should any harm befall him. At 
the end of the day, however, the private thus explained 
his conduct to the Colonel : "My mother says to me, 
sir, ' Stick to the Colonel, and you'll be all right. 
Them Colonels never get hurt.' " 

But, with all their playfulness and jocularity, there 
are no soldiers to whom the serious aspects of the war 
make a more direct appeal than to the Irish. This is 
seen in various ways. It is seen in their devotional 
exercises. The Irish Guards and other Irish regi- 
ments have been known frequently to recite the 
Rosary and sing hymns even in the trenches. It is 
seen also in their national fervour. They go into 
action singing their patriotic songs. From these 
qualities they derive support for their martial spirit, 
their endurance and their unconquerable courage. 
They never quail in the face of danger. No soldiers 
have risen to loftier heights of moral heroism, as the 
numerous records of their deeds on the roll of the 
Victoria Cross bear inspiring witness. 

But their humour always remains. One of the in- 
junctions to men at the Front is "Don't put your head 
above the parapet." The Irish soldiers are more apt 



HUMOUR AND SERIOUSNESS 117 

than others to disregard it, however frequently its 
wisdom is brought home to them. I have heard only 
one that was convinced. "Faix," he remarked, as the 
bullets of the snipers soon stopped his survey of the 
prospect outside the trench, "it's aisy to understand 
that the more a man looks round in this war the less 
he's likely to see." They have a comforting philo^ 
sophy that it takes many a ton of lead to kill a man. 
An Irish soldier invalided home from France was 
asked what struck him most about the battles he took 
part in. "What struck me most?" said he. "Sure 
it was the crowd of bullets flying about that didn't 
hit me ! " 



CHAPTER IX 
THE IRISH BRIGADE 



Pride and sorrow struggle for mastery at the 
spectacle of troops returning to camp from the battle, 
their appearance telling of the intolerable strain which 
this war imposes, even in the case of victory, upon 
the human faculties. The thought of it alone is pain- 
ful to the feelings of any one who has the least ima- 
gination. They are all begrimed and careworn, and 
many have the distraught look of those who have seen 
and suffered terrible things. So the Irish Brigade 
came back from Guillamont and Guinchy, on the 
Somme, in the early days of September 1916, what 
time the Empire was resounding with the fame of 
their exploits. On a Sunday they carried Guillamont 
with a rush; on the following Saturday they literally 
pounced upon Guinchy, and in between they lay in 
open trenches under continuous shell fire. 

I saw the Irish Brigade before they left for the 
Front, and noted in the ranks the many finely shaped 
heads and thoughtful faces of poets and leaders of 
men, interspersed with the lithe frames of athletes and 
the resolute, hard-bitten countenances of born fighters. 
At first I was moved to sorrow at the thought of the 
pass to which civilisation has come that the best use 
which could be made of all this superb youth and 
manhood in its valiancy was to send it forth into the 
devouring jaws of war. Then I perceived that some- 

118 



THE IRISH BRIGADE 119 

thing like a radiance shimmered about the marching 
ranks. It came, I noticed, both from their muscular 
strength and their martial ardour, for the flush of 
battle already mantled their cheeks, and its light was 
in their dancing eyes; and at once I understood that 
if I saw but the mound surmounted by the little 
wooden cross in France, and in Ireland the desolate 
hearthstone, they, with the wider and more aspiring 
imagination of youth, rejoiced that they were going 
out to fight in liberty's defence, and saw only their 
bayonets triumphantly agleam in the fury of the 
engagement. Careless and gay, they captured the 
two villages on the Somme in a ding-dong, helter- 
skelter fashion. They maintained the reputation of 
the Irish infantry as "the finest missile troops in the 
British Army" (so they are described by Colonel 
Repington, the renowned military correspondent of 
The Times), by the spirit and dash of their charge, 
their eagerness to get quickly into touch with the foe, 
and the energy and dexterity with which they wield 
that weapon which finally decides the issue of battles 
— the bayonet. 

As they emerged out of the cloud of smoke on the 
Somme, and marched back to camp in much dimin- 
ished numbers — caked with mud, powdered with grey 
dust, very tired — across the ground their valour had 
won and their grit maintained against fierce counter 
attacks, they displayed quite another phase of the 
Irish nature — its melancholy and its mysticism. The 
piper that led them back began to play some old Irish 
rhapsodies having that wonderful blending of joy and 
grief which makes these airs so haunting. That was 
well. For the men were in so extreme a stage of 
exhaustion, physical and mental, that they lurched 
and reeled, and were overwhelmed with distress at 
missing many beloved comrades that fought with 
them, and officers that led them only a few days 



120 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

before. Then they heard the pipes, and their hearts 
were uplifted by the strains, plaintive and yearning, 
defiant and challenging, which expresses in music the 
history of their race. They seemed, indeed, to have 
caught even some of the jaunty, boastful swagger of 
the piper, as he strode before them, blowing into his 
reeds and working the bag with his left elbow. 

The General of the Brigade watched his troops go 
by, and in his eyes they were all the grander for the 
horrid disarray of their torn, muddy and bloody uni- 
forms, and their haggard faces blackened with sweat 
and smoke and soil. "I am proud of you," he called 
out in a voice surging with emotion. "Ye did damned 
well, boys." A handful of men, once a company, was 
led by a sergeant. Every officer was gone. "Bravo, 
Dublins ! " exclaimed the General ; but for the 
moment his heart was heavy within him as he recalled 
to mind the dashing, gallant young lads, so hearty 
and joyous, buried now round about the ruins of the 
villages from which the Germans had been driven at 
the bayonet-point by the splendid rank and file at 
whose head they fell. Quickly the thoughts of the 
General came back to the survivors. "Ireland is 
proud of you, boys," he cried in exultant tones. He 
knew that would stir them. Ireland is their glory; 
and they lifted up their heads a little more as they 
caught the import of their Commander's words. 

This Irish Brigade, officially known as the Irish 
Division, was the outcome of the meeting in Dublin 
addressed by Mr. Asquith, shortly after the outbreak 
of the war, in the course of his tour of the country 
as Prime Minister to explain the origins and aims of 
the conflict. Lord Wimborne, the Viceroy, presided. 
The Lord Mayor of Dublin and mayors of most of 
the chief towns of Ireland, the chairmen of county 
councils and representatives of all shades of polit- 
ical and religious opinions were present. Mr. John 



THE IRISH BRIGADE 121 

Redmond proposed, at the meeting, the formation of 
an Irish Brigade. While "Irish Division" sounds 
meaningless to young Irishmen, *" Irish Brigade" at 
once arouses thrilling memories of the battlefields of 
Europe during the eighteenth century. For a hundred 
years, from the fall of the Stuarts to the French 
Revolution, there was an Irish Brigade in the service 
of France. It was regularly recruited from Ireland 
through that long span of time, though to join it was 
a penal offence. As the young men stole secretly 
away to France in smuggling crafts from the west of 
Ireland, they were popularly known as "the wild 
geese." "Everywhere and always Faithful" was the 
motto bestowed on the Brigade by the King of France. 
That being so, there was a hearty response to the call 
for a new Irish Brigade to serve again in France, and 
for causes more worthy than the old. 

Just as the Ulster Division was composed of Union- 
ists and Protestants, the Irish Division was recruited 
mainly from the Nationalist and Catholic sections of 
the population. The Nationalist Volunteers, sup- 
porters of the policy and aims of the Irish Parlia- 
mentary Party, provided most of the rank and file. 
Like another Irish Division, the first of Ireland's 
distinctive contributions to the New Armies, which 
perished in the ill-starred expedition to Gallipoli, the 
Irish Division was composed of the youth of Ireland 
at its highest and best — clean of soul and strong of 
body, possessing in the fullest measure all the bright- 
est qualities of the race, the intellectual and spiritual, 
not less than the political and humorous. 

One of the first to join was Mr. William Redmond, 
M.P. for East Glare, younger brother of the Irish 
Leader, though he was well over the military age. 
He was appointed Captain in the Royal Irish Regi- 
ment — the premier Irish regiment — in which he had 
served thirty-three years previously, before his elec- 



122 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

tion to the House of Commons. Speaking at an early 
recruiting meeting, he said that, should circumstances 
so demand, he would say to his countrymen "Come" 
instead of u Go." He was as good as his word. For 
his services at the Front he was promoted to the rank 
of Major, and has been mentioned by Field-Marshal 
Haig in despatches. Other nationalist Members of 
Parliament who were officers of the Brigade were 
Captain W. Archer Redmond, Dublin Fusiliers, son 
of Mr. John Redmond, Captain Stephen Gwynn, well 
known as a man of letters, who joined the Connaught 
Rangers as a private and was promoted to the rank 
of Captain in the battalion; Captain J. L. Esmonde, 
Dublin Fusiliers, and Captain D. D. Sheehan, Mun- 
ster Fusiliers, who also gave his two boys to the 
Brigade. General Sir Lawrence Parsons, son of the 
Earl of Rosse — scion of a distinguished Irish family 
resident for centuries at Birr, King's Co. — was 
appointed to the command of the Division. 

Sir Francis Vane, an eminent Irish soldier of 
Nationalist sympathies, who was appointed by the 
War Office to supervise the recruiting for the Division, 
says that never in his life did he witness so extra- 
ordinary a scene as that presented at Buttevant and 
Fermoy, co. Cork, where the men first assembled in 
September and October 1914. "It reminded me," 
he says, "of the pages of Charles Lever in the variety 
of Irish types answering to the call. There were old 
men and young sportsmen, students, car drivers, farm 
labourers, Members of Parliament, poets, litterateurs, 
all crowding into barracks which were totally in- 
capable of housing decently the half of them." They 
were dressed in all sorts of clothes, from the khaki, 
red and blue of the Services, to "the latest emanation 
of the old clo' merchants." That curious assortment 
of all types and classes was the rough material out 
of which was fashioned, by training and discipline, a 



THE IRISH BRIGADE 123 

superb military instrument. The soldierly essentials 
were there in abundance. Within two years they 
came successfully through ordeals that would have 
I tried the nerves of the toughest veterans of the 
Old Guard of Napoleon. 
I In the course of 1915 the Division was removed to 
! camps at Aldershot to complete their training. The 
men were visited there, in November, by Cardinal 
! Bourne, Archbishop of Westminster, who gave them 
[ his benediction, and said he was sure they would do 
their duty at the Front "as good children of Ireland 
and good sons of the Catholic Church." Early in 
December they were reviewed by the Queen. It was 
originally arranged that the review should be held by 
the King, but his Majesty, on a visit to the Front, had 
been flung from his horse, and was not sufficiently 
recovered from the accident to be able to be present. 
Among those in the reserved enclosure surrounding 
the saluting-base that day were Mr. John Dillon, M.P., 
and Mr. T. P. O'Connor, M.P. In the march past 
the Queen they were led off by the South Irish Horse, 
a body of Yeomanry. Each of the three infantry 
brigades was headed by one of the Irish wolfhounds 
which Mr. John Redmond presented to the Division 
as mascots. At the conclusion of the review her 
Majesty sent for General Parsons and the three 
Brigadier-Generals, and congratulated them upon the 
appearance and efficiency of the troops. 

Shortly afterwards the Division left for the Front, 
under the command of Major-General William Ber- 
nard Hickie, C.B., an Irishman and a Catholic, who 
has had a very brilliant military career. Born on 
May 21, 1865, the eldest son of the late Colonel 
J. F. Hickie of Slevoyre, Borrisokane, co. Tipperary, 
he was educated at Oscott and Sandhurst. At the age 
of nineteen he joined his father's old regiment, the 
1 st battalion of the Royal Fusiliers, of which in due 



i2 4 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

course he became Colonel. In the South African War 
he served on the Staff, in command of a mounted 
infantry corps and of a mobile column. On his return 
home he became Deputy Assistant Quartermaster- 
General to the 8th Division. In 191 2 he was ap- 
pointed Assistant Quartermaster-General of the Irish 
Command. On the outbreak of the war General 
Hickie became Deputy Assistant Quartermaster- 
General of the Second Army, and is stated to have 
particularly distinguished himself maintaining good 
order during the retreat from Mons. The Irish Bri- 
gade was most fortunate in having such a man as 
Commander. Thoroughly understanding the Irish 
character, its weak points as well as its strong ones — 
its good-humoured and careless disposition; its im- 
patience often of the restraints and servitude of mili- 
tary life; its eagerness always for a fight or any sort 
of enterprise with a spice of danger in it — he was able 
to get the most out of his men. One of his happy 
thoughts was the institution of a system of rewards 
in the Division apart from but supplementary to the 
usual military honours. Any company officer or man 
who, in the opinion of the commander of his regiment, 
has given proof of exceptional good conduct and devo- 
tion to duty in the field, is presented by General Hickie 
with a Parchment Certificate at a parade. The cer- 
tificate has been specially prepared in Ireland, having 
the words "The Irish Brigade" in Gaelic letters en- 
wreathed with shamrocks at the top, setting out the 
name of the recipient, the nature and date of his 
achievement, and the signature of the General. The 
men send these certificates home, where they are pre- 
served as precious mementoes. An Honours Book of 
the Irish Brigade is also kept in which these presenta- 
tions and the military honours won are recorded. 

The first experience which the Irish Brigade had 
of the trenches was in the Loos-Hullock line. It 



THE IRISH BRIGADE 125 

is the most desolate of the war-stricken regions, 
one bare, black, open plain, where everything has 
been blown to pieces and levelled to the ground, 
save here and there some wire entanglements; where 
there is no sign of human life, except when parties of 
the thousands upon thousands of combatants who 
burrow beneath its surface, emerge in the darkness of 
the night for stealthy raids on each other's positions. 
The front line trenches of both sides run close to- 
gether. At one point they are no more than sixteen 
yards apart. They are notoriously of the worst type, 
nothing more, indeed, than shallow and slimy drains, 
badly provided with dug-outs, and much exposed to 
fire. Under such conditions the craving of the body 
for food and rest could be satisfied only at the bare 
point of existence. 

Major William Redmond, in a letter to Dr. 
Fogarty, Bishop of Killaloe, dated February 3, 1916, 
says: "Our first spell in the trenches was for twelve 
days, and in that time we had no change of clothing, 
just stayed as we were all the time. The shelling was 
terrific, and the Division suffered some losses. The 
day before we came out the enemy began to celebrate 
the Kaiser's birthday, January 27, and we were shelled 
without ceasing for twenty-four hours. The men of 
our Division behaved very well, and received good 
reports ; so the General said." Testimony to the excel- 
lent way in which the Irishmen passed through the 
ordeal comes from quite independent and impartial 
sources. Here, for example, is an extract from a letter 
written by the Rev. H. J. Collins, chaplain to a 
battalion of the Black Watch — 

" Our Division had the privilege of introducing the Irish 
battalions to the trenches, when they arrived out here; and 
they were our guests for a week or so before taking over on 
their own account. They made a great impression on our 
lads by their cheerfulness and their eagerness to be ' up and 



126 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

at ' the Hun. The Connaughts arrived one evening just as 
our line was being heavily shelled, and although they were 
our visitors they at once took charge of the situation. They 
had never been in the trenches in their lives before ; they were 
experiencing shell fire for the first time ; and before they had 
had time to get their packs off and settle down, one im- 
patient sergeant was over the parapet, crying out in a rich and 
musical brogue ; ' Come on, the Connaughts I ' " 

As is well known, the men of one regiment are not 
greatly disposed to praise those of another. In fact, 
some bitter regimental feuds exist in the British Army, 
or used to among the old Regulars. It is, therefore, 
all the more remarkable to find in the Glasgow Herald 
of February 24, 1916, a letter signed "Jock," proclaim- 
ing in the warmest terms the fine qualities of the new 
Irish soldiers. "Your readers may like to hear that 
we Scotsmen, who have been tried and not found 
wanting, have a great admiration for the new Irish 
Division that came out some time ago," says "Jock." 
"We have lived in the trenches side by side with 
them, and find them as keen as a hollow-ground and 
as ardent as a young lover. At a recent attack when 
the Germans were advancing the excitement became 
unbearable, and one sergeant got up on the parapet 
with the shout of: 'Come on, bhoys, get at them.' 
One of them, too, was heard to grumble, ' Here we've 
been in th* trinches fur two weeks an' niver wance 
over th' paradise.' It is to be feared they will outvie 
even the kilts." 

Yet during this instructional period, when the 
various battalions of the Brigade were attached to 
other regiments for preliminary practice in the 
trenches, some high military honours were won. 
Sergeant J. Tierney, of the Leinster Regiment; Lance- 
Corporal A. Donagh, and Private P. F. Duffy, of the 
Connaught Rangers, gained the Distinguished Con- 
duct Medal. Donagh and Duffy, in response to a 
call for volunteers, undertook to carry messages for- 



THE IRISH BRIGADE 127 

ward under heavy fire, as all telephone communica- 
tion had been cut. The task was one of extreme 
danger, but the men succeeded in accomplishing it 
unhurt, and were awarded the D.C.M. for their cool- 
ness and bravery. Corporal Timoney, of the Munster 
Fusiliers, was especially mentioned in Army Orders 
for an act of courage in picking up and throwing 
away a live Mills-grenade which had fallen among 
some men under instruction. By this act he un- 
doubtedly saved the lives of several men, and if it had 
happened in the field instead of at practice he would 
have been eligible for recommendation for a higher 
honour. 



CHAPTER X 

IRISH REPLIES TO GERMAN WILES 
AND POISON GAS 

HOW THE MUNSTERS CAPTURED THE ENEMY'S 
WHEEDLING PLACARDS 

It was from the Germans that the Irish Brigade got 
the first intimation of the troubles in Dublin at Easter, 
1916. The Germans, heedless of their failure to 
induce the Irish soldiers in their captivity to forswear 
allegiance and honour, availed themselves of the 
Rebellion to try their wiles on the Irish soldiers in 
the field. Both sides in the trenches often become 
acquainted, in curious ways, with the names and 
nationality of the regiments opposed to them. But in 
regard to a particular section of the British line, 
between Hulluch and Loos, in April 1916, the Ger- 
mans might easily know it was held by Irish troops. 
The fact was proclaimed by the green banner with 
the golden harp which the boys of the Brigade hoisted 
over the breastworks — the flag which, in their eyes, 
has been consecrated in the great cause of liberty by 
the deeds and sacrifices of their forefathers, the flag 
for whose glorified legend they were proud to die. 
So it happened that one morning these Irish troops 
were surprised to see two placards nailed to boards 
on the top of poles, displayed by the Germans, on 
which the following was written in English — 

" Irishmen ! In Ireland's revolution English guns are 
firing on your wives and children. The English Military Bill 

128 



IRISH REPLIES TO GERMAN WILES 129 

has been refused. Sir Roger Casement is being^ persecuted, 
row away your arms ; we j ' 
' We are Saxons. If you 



Throw away your arms ; we give you a hearty welcome. 
e are Saxons. If you don't fire, we won't." 



The Irish Brigade and the Irish Volunteers who rose 
in rebellion in Dublin were alike recruited from the 
same class. Such are the unhappily wayward cir- 
cumstances of Irish life that the tremendous fact 
whether this lad or that was to fight for England in 
Flanders or against her in Dublin was in many cases 
decided by mere chance or accident. At any rate, the 
kith and kin of numbers of men of the Irish Brigade 
were among the Sinn Feiners. A widowed mother in 
Dublin had, in consequence, a most tragic experience. 
The post on Easter Monday morning brought her a 
letter from a company officer of a battalion in the Irish 
Brigade announcing that her son had been killed in 
action. "He died for Ireland," said the officer, know- 
ing that it was true and that it would help to soften 
her maternal grief. Before the day was out her other 
son, wearing the green uniform of the Irish Volun- 
teers, staggered home mortally wounded, and as he 
lay gasping out his life on the floor he, too, used the 
same phrase of uplifting memories: "Mother, don't 
fret. Sure, I'm dying for Ireland." 

The effect of the German placards on the battalion 
of Munster Fusiliers, then holding the British line, 
was very far astray from that which their authors 
hoped for and intended. A fusillade of bullets at once 
bespattered the wheedling phrases. What fun to 
make a midnight foray on the German trenches and 
carry off the placards as trophies ! No sooner was 
the adventure suggested than it was agreed to. In the 
darkness of night a body of twenty-five men and two 
officers of the Munsters crawled out into No Man's 
Land. They were discovered when about half-way 
across by a German searchlight, and then the flying 



i 3 o THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

bullets of two machine-guns commenced to splutter 
about them. Some of the men were killed; some were 
wounded. The others lay still for hours in the rank 
grass before they resumed their stealthy crawl, like 
the Indians they used to read of in boyhood stories, 
and, having noiselessly cut their way under the enemy 
entanglements, they sprang, with fixed bayonets and 
terrifying yells, into the trench. The Germans, 
startled out of their senses by this most unexpected 
visit, scurried like rabbits into the nearest dug-outs. 
The notice-boards were then seized and borne in 
triumph to the Irish trenches, to the unbounded 
delight and pride of the battalion; and they are now 
treasured among the regiment's most precious spoils 
of vanquished enemies. 

A few days later, on the morning of April 27, the 
Germans tried what blows could do where lying blan- 
dishments had failed; and the Irish Brigade had to 
face, for the first time, an infantry attack in force. 
The enemy began their operations by concentrating 
a bombardment of great intensity upon trenches held 
by Dublin Fusiliers. Then, shortly after five o'clock, 
there came on the light breeze that blew from the 
German lines a thick and sluggish volume of greenish 
smoke. "Poison gas! On with your helmets!" 
Surely, the hearts of the most indomitable might well 
have quailed at the thought of the writhing agony 
endured by those who fall victims to this new and 
most terrible agency of war. Instead of that, the 
flurry and excitement of putting on the masks was fol- 
lowed by roars of laughter as the men looked at one 
another and saw the fantastic and absurd beings, with 
grotesque goggle-eyes, into which they had trans- 
formed themselves. But they were not the only 
monsters in the uncanny scene. Like grey spectres, 
sinister and venomous, the Germans appeared as they 
came on, partly screened by the foul vapour which 



IRISH REPLIES TO GERMAN WILES 131 

rolled before them. Not one of them reached the 
Irish trenches. The Dublins, standing scathless in 
the poison clouds which enveloped them, poured out 
round after round of rifle fire, until the Germans broke 
and fled, leaving piles of their dead and wounded at 
the wire entanglements, and the body of the officer 
who had led them caught in the broken strands. 

Two hours later, that same morning, there was 
another sally from the German trenches, under cover 
of gas, against a different section of the Irish. The 
parapets here had been so demolished by shell fire 
that the Germans gained a footing in the trenches. 
But they were hardly in before they were out again. 
"The time during which the Germans were in occupa- 
tion of our trenches was a matter of minutes only," 
says the war correspondent of The Times. They were 
put to rout by the Inniskillings, who came up from 
the reserve trenches at the double. "Never was a job 
more cleanly and quickly done," adds The Times corre- 
spondent. On the next occasion that the Germans 
launched an attack with gas, they had themselves to 
drink, so to speak, the poison cup they had prepared for 
the Irish. That was two days subsequently, on April 
29. "Providence was on our side," writes Major 
William Redmond, "for the wind suddenly changing, 
the gas blew back over the German trenches where the 
Bavarians had already massed for attack. Taken by 
surprise, they left their front line and ran back across 
the open under the heavy and well-directed fire of our 
artillery. In one battalion of that Bavarian Infantry 
Regiment the losses from their own gas and from our 
fire on that day were stated to be, by a deserter, over 
eight hundred ; and the diary of a prisoner of another 
battalion captured on the Somme in September states 
that his regiment also had about five hundred gassed 
cases, a large number of whom died." 

The Irish Division continued to hold the Hulluch- 



i 3 2 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

Loos sector of the line until the end of August 1916. 
They were subjected to severe bombardments. It was 
a common occurrence for the enemy to send from two 
to five thousand 5*9 shells a day into their trenches. 
What fortitude and grim determination must they not 
have had at their command to enable them to pass 
unshaken through these terrible ordeals. They re- 
taliated in the way they love best, with many a dashing 
raid on the German positions. 

For conspicuous gallantry in these operations the 
Military Cross was awarded to several of the officers. 
In the cases of Captain Victor Louis Manning and 
Lieutenant Nicholas Joseph Egan of the Dublin 
Fusiliers, the official record says that "by skilful and 
determined handling of their bombing parties they 
drove off three determined bomb attacks by the enemy 
in greatly superior numbers," and that "they con- 
tinued to command their parties after they had both 
been wounded," gives but a faint idea of the daring 
nature of their deed. A small counter-mine was ex- 
ploded under a German mine at a point between the 
opposing lines, but nearer to those of the Germans. 
The Germans were able to occupy the mound first and 
establish a machine-gun on it, with which they domi- 
nated the Dublin trenches. Volunteers being called 
for to clear them out, Lieutenant Egan and a small 
party of privates, armed with bombs, rushed out 
and carried the position. Then they had to hold it 
against German counter-attacks which were launched 
during the next three days. Lieutenant Egan was 
wounded in the wrist early in the fight, but he and 
six men, being plentifully supplied with bombs, held 
their ground doggedly. Instead of waiting for the 
Germans to reach the mound, in what threatened to 
be the worst of the counter-attacks, the party of 
Dublins advanced to meet them and drove them back, 
thus conveying the impression that they were in 



IRISH REPLIES TO GERMAN WILES 133 

greater strength than was really the case. On the 
night of the third day another party, under Captain 
Manning, came to their support. After a further 
series of encounters had ended in favour of the 
Dublins, the Germans abandoned the hope of re- 
capturing the post, which was subsequently strongly 
consolidated by the victors. On the fourth day, when 
the struggle had definitely ended in favour of the 
Dublins, and Lieutenant Egan was about to return 
to the lines, a bomb fell at his feet. He was blown 
a distance of fifteen yards, and was picked up seriously 
wounded in the thigh. Lieutenant Egan is a grand- 
son of Mr. Patrick Egan of New York, well known in 
the stormy agrarian agitation in Ireland under Parnell 
and Davitt as the treasurer of the Land League. 
Previous to the war Lieutenant Egan was in business 
in Canada. 

Another fine exploit standing to the credit of the 
Irish Brigade was that of Lieutenant Patrick Stephen 
Lynch of the Leinsters, who got the Military Cross 
"for conspicuous gallantry when successfully laying 
and firing a torpedo under the enemy's wire." It 
was an uncommon deed, and just as uncommon is 
the very remarkable tribute with which the official 
record ends : " His cool bravery is very marked and 
his influence over his men very great." The Brigadier- 
General, George Pereira, D.S.O., in a letter of con- 
gratulation to Lieutenant Lynch, dated July 1, 1916, 
says : "Your leading the attack along the parapet was 
splendid, but you must be more careful another time." 
Before the month was out Lieutenant Lynch got a bar 
to his Military Cross — in other words, he had won 
the distinction twice over — an honour which, as 
General Hickie wrote to him, was well deserved, and 
likely to be very rare. This young Waterford man — 
a fine type of the fearless and dashing Irish officer, 
made out of a civilian in two years — was promoted 



i 3 4 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

Captain in the Leinsters, and was killed on his 
birthday and the completion of his twenty-fifth year, 
December 27, 1916. The battalion was plunged into 
grief by the loss of Captain Lynch. " ' Paddy ' — the 
name we all knew him by from the CO. down to 
the youngest sub. — was considered the most efficient 
officer in this battalion, and he was certainly the most 
popular," writes Lieutenant H. W. Norman, an officer 
of the Captain's company. " Everybody mourns 
his death, and when the news got to his men they 
could not believe that such a brave and daring officer 
could be killed, but the news was only too true; and 
when it was confirmed I saw many's the officer and 
man crying like children. He lost his life to save his 
men, who were in a trench that was being heavily 
shelled. He went up with a sergeant, in spite of 
danger and certain death, to get them out, and on the 
way up a shell landed in the trench where they were, 
killing both instantaneously." Another noble deed 
was that for which Lieutenant John Francis Gleeson, 
Munster Fusiliers, won the Military Cross. "Under 
heavy rifle fire and machine-gun fire, he left his trench 
to bring in a wounded man lying within ten yards of 
the enemy entanglements." 

It was also in connection with these raids on the 
German trenches that the Irish Division gained the 
first of its Victoria Crosses. The hero is Captain 
Arthur Hugh Batten-Pooll of the Munster Fusiliers — 
a Somerset man, and he got the V.C. "for most con- 
spicuous bravery whilst in command of a raiding 
party." At the moment of entry into the enemy's 
lines," the official record continues, "he was severely 
wounded by a bomb, which broke and mutilated all 
the fingers of his right hand. In spite of this he 
continued to direct operations with unflinching 
courage, his voice being clearly heard cheering on and 
directing his men. He was urged, but refused, to 



IRISH REPLIES TO GERMAN WILES 135 

retire. Half an hour later, during the withdrawal, 
whilst personally assisting in the rescue of other 
wounded men, he received two further wounds. Still 
refusing assistance, he walked unaided to within a 
hundred yards of our lines, when he fainted, and was 
carried in by the covering party." Captain D. D. 
Sheehan of the Munster Fusiliers supplies the fol- 
lowing spirited account of the raid — 

" Our men got into the enemy's trenches with irresistible 
dash. They met with a stout resistance. There was no 
stopping or stemming the sweep of the men of Munster. 
They rushed the Germans off their feet. They bombed and 
they bludgeoned them. Indeed, the most deadly instrument 
of destruction in this encounter was the short heavy stick, 
in the shape of a shillelagh, the use of which, we are led to 
believe, is the prescriptive and hereditary right of all Irishmen. 
The Munster Fusiliers gave the Huns such a dressing and 
drubbing on that night as they are not likely to have since 
forgotten. Half an hour in the trenches and all was over. 
Dug-outs and all were done for. Of the eight officers, four 
were casualties, two, unhappily, killed, and two severely 
wounded, of whom one was Batten-Pooll." 

For months the Irish Brigade had on their right the 
renowned Ulster Division. Thus the descendants of 
the two races in Ireland who for more than two 
centuries were opposed politically and religiously, and 
often came to blows under their rival colours of 
" Orange" and "Green," were now happily fighting 
side by side in France for the common rights of man. 
Though born and bred in the same tight little island, 
the men themselves had been severed by antagonisms 
arising out of those hereditary feuds, and thus but 
imperfectly understood each other. "When they met 
from time to time," says Major William Redmond, 
M.P., "the best of good feeling and comradeship was 
shown as between brother Irishmen." Evidence of 
these amicable relations is afforded by a letter written 
by Private J. Cooney of the Royal Irish Regiment. 



136 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

"The Ulster Division are supporting us on our right," 
he says. "The other morning I was out by myself 
and met one of them. He asked me what part of 
Ireland I belonged to. I said a place called Athlone, 
in the county Westmeath. He said he was a Belfast 
man and a member of the Ulster Volunteers. I said 
I was a National Volunteer, and that the National 
Volunteers were started in my native town. ' Well,' 
said he, ' that is all over now. We are Irishmen 
fighting together, and we will forget all these things.' 
4 1 don't mind if we do,' said I ; ' but I'm not par- 
ticularly interested. We must all do our bit out here, 
no matter where we come from, north or south, and 
that is enough for the time.' " Private Cooney adds : 
"This young Belfast man was very anxious to impress 
me with the fact that we Irish were all one ; that there 
should be no bad blood between us, and we became 
quite friendly in the course of a few minutes." Meet- 
ing thus in the valley of darkness, blood and tears, the 
fraternity born of the dangers they were incurring for 
the same great ends, united them far more closely 
than years of ordinary friendship could have done. 
To many on both sides the cause of their traditional 
hostility appeared very trivial ; and there were revealed 
to them reasons, hitherto obscured by prejudice and 
convention, for mutual loving-kindness and even for 
national unification. 

But it was not the first time that north and south 
fought together in the Empire's battle. There is an 
eloquent passage on the subject in Conan Doyle's 
Great Boer War. It refers to the advance of Hart's 
"Irish Brigade" — consisting of the ist Inniskillings, 
ist Connaughts and ist Dublins — over an open plain 
to the Tugela river, at the Battle of Colenso, under 
heavy fire from front and flank, and even from the 
rear, for a regiment in support fired at them, not 
knowing that any of the line was so far advanced — 



IRISH REPLIES TO GERMAN WILES 137 

" Rolling on in a broad wave of shouting, angry men, they 
never winced from the fire until they swept up to the bank 
of the river. Northern Inniskillings and Southern men of 
Connaught, orange and green, Protestant and Catholic, Celt 
and Saxon, their only rivalry now was who could shed his 
blood most freely for the common cause. How hateful those 
provincial politics and narrow sectarian creeds which can hold 
such men apart ! " 

On July 1 the Ulster Division won immortal renown 
on the Somme. It was now the turn of the Irish 
Brigade to uphold the martial fame of the race on the 
same stricken field. They were done with trench raids 
for a while, and in for very big fighting. 



CHAPTER XI 

STORMING OF GUILLAMONT BY THE 
IRISH BRIGADE 

RAISING THE GREEN FLAG IN THE CENTRE OF 
THE VILLAGE 

At the end of August the Irish Brigade was ordered 
to the Somme. The civil authorities of the district, 
headed by the mayor and cure, called upon General 
Hickie to express their appreciation of the good con- 
duct and religious devotion of his troops. The General 
was a proud man that day. Nothing pleased him 
more than praise of his soldiers. In return, they 
gloried in him. As an example of his fatherly solici- 
tude for them, he had established a divisional laundry 
under the care of the nuns, in which 25,000 shirts a 
week and 5000 pairs of socks per day are washed for 
them, and every day's rations sent to the men in the 
trenches was accompanied by a dry pair of socks. The 
result was that "trench feet " — feet benumbed with the 
cold and the wet — were almost unknown in the Divi- 
sion. He also provided for a thousand baths a day 
being given to his men in a specially constructed 
bath-house. 

The marches of the Brigade to their new station was 
done to the accompaniment of patter, drip, trickle, 
ripple, splash — all the creepy sounds of continuous 
rain, and across the sodden and foul desolation that 
was once the fair fields of France. Up to the firing 

138 



STORMING OF GUILLAMONT 139 

line swung a battalion of the Munster Fusiliers, gaily 
whistling and singing in the rain. They carried a 
beautiful banner of the Sacred Heart, the gift of the 
people of the city of Limerick, from which many of 
the men came. Miss Lily Doyle of Limerick, who 
made the presentation to Major Lawrence Roche of 
the battalion, tells me that the idea of the banner 
originated with the Reverend Mother of the Good 
Shepherd's Convent, Limerick, who had read, in what 
are termed the "Extended Revelations," that a promise 
was given by Jesus to Blessed Margaret Mary that, 
inasmuch as soldiers derided His Sacred Heart when 
He hung upon the Cross, any soldiers who made 
reparation by carrying His standard would have 
victory with them. The cost of the banner (^10) was 
mainly raised by penny subscriptions. It was worked 
by the Good Shepherd nuns on crimson poplin. On 
one side is a beautiful piece of embroidery representing 
Our Lord with His Heart exposed on His breast to 
Blessed Margaret Mary, with the inscriptions, "Tu 
Rex Gloria Christi " and " Parce Domine, parce 
populo tuo." On the other side are the words of the 
Archangel Michael : "Quis ut Deus," surrounded with 
monograms of "Royal Munster Fusiliers" and "God 
save Ireland." "You could not have sent us a more 
suitable gift," the Rev. J. Wrafter, S.J., chaplain of 
the battalion, wrote to Miss Doyle, "or one which 
would give more pleasure to the men. I believe they 
prefer it to any material comforts that are sent to 
them." This is the third religious banner borne by 
soldiers since the Crusades. The first was the 
standard of Joan of Arc, and the second that of the 
Pontifical Zouaves, when Rome was an independent 
state. As the Munsters thus marched to battle a cry 
of "Look!" was suddenly raised in the ranks, and 
as all eyes turned in the direction indicated a wonderful 
sight was seen. The great tower of Albert Cathedral 



140 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

appeared through the mist of rain, and the sun shone 
on the great copper statue of the Blessed Virgin and 
the Child, which dominated the countryside for miles 
around, and, laid prostrate by German gunners, was 
now lying out level with the top of the tower. Thus 
that symbol of faith, though fallen, was not over- 
thrown. Its roots in the pedestal were firm and 
strong. The Virgin Mother, facing downwards, still 
held the Infant Jesus scathless in her outstretched 
hands, as if showing Him the devastation below, ready 
to be uplifted again on the day of Christianity's 
victory. The piety of the battalion was kindled by 
that strange and moving spectacle. Quickly respon- 
sive always to things that appeal to the imagination, 
the men felt as if they were witnesses of a miracle, 
and with one accord they took off their helmets and 
cheered and cheered again. 

Though it is an unusual thing for the Commander- 
in-Chief to give in his dispatches the names of the 
troops who took part in a particular engagement, Sir 
Douglas Haig makes special mention of the Irish 
Brigade in his message announcing that Guillamont 
had fallen. "The Irish regiments which took part in 
the capture of Guillamont on September 3 behaved,'* 
he says, "with the greatest dash and gallantry, and 
took no small share in the success gained that day." 

September 3 was a Sunday. On the night before 
the battle the Irish troops selected for the attack on 
Guillamont bivouacked on the bare side of a hill. 
They were the Connaughts, the Royal Irish, the 
Munsters and the Leinsters. The rain had ceased, 
but the ground was everywhere deep in mud, the 
trenches were generally flooded and the shell holes 
full of water. It was a bleak and desolate scene, 
relieved only here and there by the sparkle of the little 
fires around which the platoons clustered. Just as the 
men of one of the battalions were preparing to wrap 



STORMING OF GUILLAMONT 141 

themselves in their greatcoats and lie down for the 
rest which they might be able to snatch in such a 
situation, the Catholic chaplain came over the side of 
the hill and right to the centre of the camp. "In a 
moment he was surrounded by the men," writes 
Major Redmond. "They came to him without orders 
— they came gladly and willingly, and they hailed 
his visit with plain delight. He spoke to them in 
the simple, homely language which they liked. He 
spoke of the sacrifice which they had made in freely 
and promptly leaving their homes to fight for a cause 
which was the cause of religion, freedom and civilisa- 
tion. He reminded them that in this struggle they 
were most certainly defending the homes and the rela- 
tions and friends they had left behind them in Ireland. 
It was a simple, yet most moving address, and deeply 
affected the soldiers." Major Redmond goes on to 
say : " When the chaplain had finished his address he 
signed to the men to kneel, and administered to them 
the General Absolution given in times of emergency. 
The vast majority of the men present knelt, and those 
of other faith stood by in attitudes of reverent respect. 
The chaplain then asked the men to recite with him 
the Rosary. It was most wonderful the effect pro- 
duced as hundreds and hundreds of voices repeated 
the prayers and recited the words, ' Pray for us now 
and at the hour of our death. Amen.' At the dawn 
Masses were said by the chaplains of all the battalions 
in the open, and most of the officers and men received 
Holy Communion." 

The attack was timed to begin at noon. All the 
morning the war-pipes of these Leinsters, Munsters 
and Connaughts gave out inspiring Irish tunes — 
"Brian Boru's March," that was played at the Battle 
of Clontarf in the eleventh century when the Danish 
invaders were driven from Ireland; "The White 
Cockade," the Jacobite marching tune of the first Irish 



i 4 2 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

Brigade in the service of France; "The Wearin' o' 
the Green," one of the finest expressions of a country's 
devotion to an ideal; and "A Nation Once Again," 
thrilling with the hopes of the future. The pipers 
strode up and down, green ribbons streaming from 
their pipes, sending forth these piercing invocations 
to ancient Irish heroes, to venerable saints of the land, 
to the glories and sorrows of Ireland, to the love of 
home, to the faith and aspirations of the race, to come 
to the support of the men in the fight. And what of 
the men as they waited in the assembly trenches for 
the word ? The passage from Shakespeare's Henry V 
best conveys their mood : " I see ye stand like grey- 
hounds in the leash straining upon the start." 

At twelve o'clock the battalions emerged from the 
trenches. Numbers of the men had tied to their rifles 
little green flags with the yellow harp. Like the 
English infantry associated with them, the Irish ad- 
vanced in the open snaky lines in which such attacks 
are always delivered. But there was a striking differ- 
ence — noted by the war correspondents — in the pace 
and impetus of the Irish and the English. Mr. Beach 
Thomas of the Daily Mail says : "It gives, I think, a 
satisfying sense of the variety and association of 
talent in the new Army to picture these dashing Irish 
troops careering across the open while the ground was 
being methodically cleared and settled behind them 
by English riflemen." "The English riflemen who 
fought on their right had more solidity in their way 
of going about the business," says Mr. Philip Gibbs 
of the Daily Chronicle, "but they were so inspired by 
the sight of the Irish dash and by the sound of the 
Irish pipes that those who were in support, under 
orders to stand and hold the first German line, could 
hardly be restrained from following on," The Eng- 
lish advance was calm, restrained, deliberate, infused 
by a spirit of determination that glowed rather than 



STORMING OF GUILLAMONT 143 

flamed. A breath of fire seemed to sweep through 
the Irish . From first to last they kept up a boisterous 
jog-trot charge. "It was like a human avalanche," 
was the description given by the English troops who 
fought with them. 

The country across which this dash was made was 
pitted with innumerable shell holes, most of them of 
great width and depth and all full of water and mud. 
A Munster Fusilier graphically likened the place to 
a net, in his Irish way — "all holes tied together." So 
the men, as they advanced, stumbled over the in- 
equalities of the ground, or slipped and tripped in the 
soft, sticky earth. It was a scene, too, of the most 
clamorous and frightful violence. The shells were 
like fiends of the air, flying with horrid shrieks or 
moans on the wings of the wind, ignoring one another 
and intent only on dropping down to earth and 
striking the life out of their human prey. Blasts of 
fire and flying bits of metal also swept the plain. 

There is a loud detonation, and when the smoke 
clears away not a trace is seen of the ten or dozen 
comrades that a moment before were rushing forward 
like a Rugby pack after the ball. They have all been 
blown to the four winds of heaven. "Jim, I'm hit," 
cries a lad, as if boastingly, on feeling a blow on his 
chest. He twirls round about like a spinning top and 
then topples face downward. His body has been 
perforated by a rifle bullet. A shell explodes and a 
man falls. He laughs, thinking he has been tripped 
up by a tree root or piece of wire. Both his legs are 
broken. Another shell bursts. A Leinsterman sees 
a companion lifted violently off his feet, stripped of 
his clothes, and swept several yards before he is 
dashed violently to the ground. He goes over to his 
friend and can see no sign of a wound on the quite 
naked body. But his friend will never lift up his 
head again. The blasting force of the high explosive, 



144 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

the tremendous concussion of the air, has knocked the 
life out of him. " Good-bye, Joe, and may God have 
mercy on your soul," the Leinsterman says to himself, 
and, as he dashes on again he thinks, "Sure, it may 
be my own turn next." It is that which assuages the 
grief of a soldier for a dead comrade, or soon ousts 
it altogether from his mind. 

Khaki and grey-clad forms were lying everywhere 
in the frightfully distorted postures assumed by the 
killed in action — arms twisted, legs doubled together, 
heads askew. Some had their lips turned outward, 
showing their teeth in a horrible sneer. Their mouths 
had been distended in agony. Others had a fixed 
expression of infinite sadness, as if in a lucid moment 
before death there came a thought of home. More 
horrifying still was the foul human wreckage of 
former battles — heads and trunks and limbs trodden 
under foot in the mud, and emitting a fearful stench. 

The priests followed in the wake of the troops to 
give the consolations of religion to the dying. They 
saw heartrending sights. One of them, describing his 
experiences, says : " I was standing about a hundred 
yards away, watching a party of my men crossing the 
valley, when I saw the earth under their feet open, 
and twenty men disappear in a cloud of smoke, while 
a column of stones and clay was shot a couple of 
hundred feet into the air. A big German shell, by 
the merest chance, had landed in the middle of the 
party. I rushed down the slope, getting a most un- 
merciful whack between the shoulders. I gave them 
all a General Absolution, scraped the clay from the 
faces of a couple of buried men who were not wounded, 
and then anointed as many of the poor lads as I could 
reach. Two of them had no faces to anoint, and 
others were ten feet under the clay, but a few were 
living still. By this time half a dozen volunteers had 
run up, and were digging the buried men out. We 



STORMING OF GUILLAMONT 145 

dug like demons for our lads' lives, and our own, to 
tell the truth, for every few minutes another ' iron pill ' 
from a Krupp gun would come tearing down the 
valley." Another priest says : " Many of the wounded 
were just boys, and it was extraordinary how they 
bore pain, which must have been intense. Very few 
murmurings were heard. One young man said to 
me, ' Oh, father, it is hard to die so far from home 
in the wilds of France.' Certainly the fair land of 
France just here did seem wild, with the trees all torn 
and riven with shot, and the earth on every side 
ploughed with huge shell holes." 

But the Irish troops swept on. Nothing could stop 
them — neither their fallen comrades, nor the groans of 
the wounded, nor the abominably mangled dead; and 
the blasts of fire and iron and steel which the enemy 
let loose beat in vain against their valour and resolu- 
tion. "'Tis God's truth I'm telling you," a Leinster- 
man remarked to me, "when I say we couldn't stop 
ourselves in the height of our hurry, we were that 
mad." In fact, they had captured Guillamont before 
they were aware of it. "Where's that blessed village 
we've got to take ? " they shouted, as they looked 
round and saw not a stick or a stone. "We're in it, 
boys," replied a captain of the Munsters as he planted 
a green flag with a yellow harp on the dust heap which 
his map indicated was once the centre of Guillamont, 
and the Irishmen, mightily pleased with themselves, 
raised a wild shout. 



CHAPTER XII 
THE BRIGADE'S POUNCE ON GUINCHY 

GALLANT BOY OFFICERS OF THE DUBLIN FUSILIERS 

Guinchy fell within the same week as Guillamont. 
It was stormed on the following Saturday, September 
9. The village had been taken two or three times 
previously — some accounts say four — by the British 
and recaptured each time by the Germans. But the 
grip of the Irish Brigade could not be relaxed. Stand- 
ing on a hill 500 feet high, Guinchy was one of the 
most important enemy strongholds on the Somme, 
particularly for artillery. It had been fortified with 
the accumulated skill of eighteen months' labour by 
the German engineers. It was well protected by 
guns. Picked troops — the Bavarians — defended it. 
The Germans, according to a captured officer, believed 
that Guinchy could not be taken. "But," he added, 
"you attacked us with devils, not men. No one could 
withstand them." The capture of the place was there- 
fore a good day's work. It stands solely to the credit 
of the Irish Brigade. They did it all by themselves. 

The attack was mainly delivered from the direction 
of Guillamont. All through the week, for five days 
and nights, most of the Irish battalions had lain in the 
trenches — connected shell craters for the most part — 
under heavy artillery fire. In these circumstances 
they could get nothing hot to eat. They subsisted 
mainly on the iron rations of bully beef and biscuit, 
which formed part of each man's fighting equipment, 

146 



BRIGADE'S POUNCE ON GUINCHY 147 

and a little water. As for sleep, they were unable 
to get more than disturbed and unrefreshing snatches. 
Yet they were as full of spirit and had nerves as 
unshaken as if they had come fresh from billets, and 
they were as eager for a fight as ever. 

In preparation for the advance, a thunderstorm of 
British fire and steel broke over the German trenches. 
The splitting, tearing crashes of the mighty "heavies " 
lying miles back ; their firing accuracy, the penetrating 
power of their shells, had a heartening influence on 
the men. "Ah, those guns/' said an officer of the 
Royal Irish Regiment — "their effect, spiritual and 
temporal, is wonderful. Your own makes you defiant 
of the very devil ; the enemy's put the fear of God into 
you." The German lines were blotted out by smoke 
and flying soil. The ground rocked and swayed. It 
was like a heavy sea, only the waves were of earth. 

The whistle sounded at four o'clock, and up and 
over went the men in a mass. Like the country before 
Guillamont, the country before Guinchy was slashed 
and gouged and seared, and the air had the sickening 
taste of gunpowder, poison gas and the corruption of 
the body. The men walked or ran, in broken array, 
in and out of the shell holes or over the narrow ledges 
that separated them. Soon the enemy got the range. 
Severed limbs, heads, arms and legs, and often the 
whole body, were flung high into the air. It was a 
dreadful scene. The noise, too, was appalling, what 
with the roaring of the guns, the bursting of the shells, 
and, not less, the frenzied yells of the charging masses. 
There is no shout in the melee of battle so fierce as 
the Irish shout. Every man is like "Stentor of the 
brazen voice," whose shout, as Homer says in the 
Iliad, "was as the shout of fifty men." So the Irish 
shouted as they dashed forward, partly in relief of 
their feelings, and partly in the hope of confusing and 
dismaying their adversaries. It was an amazing 



148 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

martial feat, that charge of the Irish Brigade at 
Guinchy. Within just eight minutes they had over- 
run the intervening ground and captured the village. 
Nothing stopped nor stayed them. They did not 
pause to lie down for a while and let the bullets and 
shrapnel fly over them. Many were seen, as the 
advance proceeded, lying huddled on the ground as 
if taking shelter. They had taken shelter, indeed, but 
it was behind a stronger thing than a mound of earth 
— and that is death. 

The most graphic and thrilling narrative of the 
engagement is given in a letter written home by a 
second lieutenant of one of the Irish battalions. They 
were in reserve, five or six hundred yards behind the 
first line, who were in occupation of the rising slope 
nearer to Guinchy. It was about four o'clock when 
they were ordered to move up so as to reinforce the 
first line. They got up in the nick of time, just as the 
great charge had begun, and they saw a sight which 
the officer says stirred and thrilled them to the depths 
of their souls. "Mere words," he says, "must fail to 
convey anything like a true picture of the scene, but 
it is burned into the memory of all those who were 
there and saw it. Between the outer fringe of Guinchy 
and the front line of our own trenches is No Man's 
Land, a wilderness of pits so close together that you 
could ride astraddle the partitions between any two of 
them. As you look half right, obliquely down along 
No Man's Land, you behold a great host of yellow- 
coated men rise out of the earth and surge forward 
and upward in a torrent — not in extended order, as 
you might expect, but in one mass. There seems to 
be no end to them. Just when you think the flood is 
subsiding, another wave comes surging up the bend 
towards Guinchy. We joined in on the left. There 
was no time for us any more than the others to get 
into extended order. We formed another stream con- 



BRIGADE'S POUNCE ON GUINCHY 149 

verging on the others at the summit." He goes on 
to give a wonderful impression of the spirit of the men 
— their fearlessness and exuberance which nothing 
could daunt. " By this time we were all wildly excited. 
Our shouts and yells alone must have struck terror 
into the Huns. They were firing their machine-guns 
down the slope. Their shells were falling here, there 
and everywhere. But there was no wavering in the 
Irish host. We couldn't run. We advanced at a steady 
walking pace, stumbling here and there, but going 
ever onward and upward. That numbing dread had 
now left me completely. Like the others, I was in- 
toxicated with the glory of it all. I can remember 
shouting and bawling to the men of my platoon, who 
were only too eager to go on." 

The officer mentions a curious circumstance which 
throws more light on that most interesting subject — 
the state of the mind in battle. He says the din must 
have been deafening — he learned afterwards that it 
could be heard miles away — and yet he had a confused 
remembrance only of anything in the way of noise. 
How Guinchy was reached and what it was like is 
thus described : " How long we were in crossing No 
Man's Land I don't know. It could not have been 
more than five minutes, yet it seemed much longer. 
We were now well up to the Boche. We had to 
clamber over all manner of obstacles — fallen trees, 
beams, great mounds of brick and rubble — in fact, 
over the ruins of Guinchy. It seems like a nightmare 
to me now. I remember seeing comrades falling round 
me. My sense of hearing returnecTto me, for I became 
conscious of a new sound — namely, the pop, pop, pop, 
pop of machine-guns, and the continuous crackling 
of rifle fire. By this time all units were mixed up, 
but they were all Irishmen. They were cheering and 
cheering like mad. There was a machine-gun playing 
on us near by, and we all made for it." 



150 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

Through the centre of the smashed and battered 
village ran a deep trench. It was occupied by about 
two hundred Germans, who continued to fire rifle and 
machine-gun even after the Irish had appeared on all 
sides, scrambling over the piles of masonry, bent and 
twisted wood and metal and broken furniture. "At 
this moment we caught our first sight of the Huns," 
the officer continues. "They were in a trench of sorts, 
which ran in and out among the ruins. Some of them 
had their hands up. Others were kneeling and hold- 
ing their arms out to us. Still others were running 
up and down the trench, distracted, as if they didn't 
know which way to go, but as we got closer they went 
down on their knees, too." In battle the Irish are 
fierce and terrible to the enemy, and in victory most 
magnanimous. "To the everlasting good name of the 
Irish soldiery," the officer says, "not one of these 
Huns, some of whom had been engaged in slaughter- 
ing our men up to the very last moment, was killed. 
I did not see a single instance of a prisoner being shot 
or bayoneted. When you remember that our men 
were worked up to a frenzy of excitement, this crown- 
ing act of mercy to their foes is surely to their eternal 
credit. They could feel pity even in their rage." He 
adds : " It is with a sense of pride that I can write this 
of our soldiers." 

Many incidents in which smiles and tears were 
commingled took place in the nests of dug-outs and 
cellars among the ruins of the village. The Dublin 
Fusiliers lost most of their officers in the advance. 
Many of them were the victims of snipers. In the 
village the direction of affairs was in the hands of 
young subalterns. The manliness and decision of 
these boys were wonderful. One of them captured, 
with the help of a single sergeant, a German officer 
and twenty men whom they had come upon on round- 
ing the corner of a trench. The German officer sur- 



BRIGADE'S POUNCE ON GUINCHY 151 

rendered in great style. He stood to attention, gave 
a clinking salute, and said in perfect English, "Sir, 
myself, this other officer and twenty men are your 
prisoners." The subaltern said, " Right you are, old 
chap ! " and they shook hands. Hundreds of the 
defenders of Guinchy had fled. "An' if they did 
itself, you couldn't blame them," said a wounded 
Dublin Fusilier to me. "We came on jumping mad, 
all roaring and bawling, an' our bayonets stretched 
out, terribly fierce, in front of us, that maybe 'tis our- 
selves would get up and run like blazes likewise if 
'twere the other way about." 

Hot and impulsive in all things, the Irishmen were 
bent on advancing into the open country beyond 
Guinchy in chase of the retreating Germans. The 
officers had frantically to blow their whistles and shout 
and gesticulate to arrest this onward rush of the men 
to destruction in the labyrinth of the enemy supports 
which had escaped bombardment. "Very frankly the 
men proclaimed their discontent," says the special 
correspondent of The Times, "with what they called 
the ' diplomacy ' which forbade them to go where they 
wanted — namely, "to hell and beyond, if there are any 
Germans hiding on the other side." 

The only cases of desertion in the Irish Division 
occurred on the night before the storming of Guinchy. 
It is a deliriously comic incident. Three servants of 
the staff mess of one of the brigades disappeared. 
They left a note saying that, as they had missed 
Guillamont, they must have a hand in the taking of 
Guinchy. "If all right, back to-morrow. Very 
sorry," they added. Sure enough they were found 
in the fighting line. 



CHAPTER XIII 

HONOURS AND DISTINCTIONS FOR THE 
IRISH BRIGADE 

HOW LIEUTENANT HOLLAND OF THE LEINSTERS 
WON THE V.C. 

Many decorations and rewards were won by the 
Irish Brigade. The Honours Book of the Brigade 
contained, at the end of 1916, about one thousand 
names of officers and men, presented by Major- 
General Hickie with the parchment certificate for gal- 
lant conduct and devotion to duty in the field. Over 
three hundred military decorations were gained. Two 
high Russian honours were also awarded — the Cross 
of St. George, Second Class, to Lance-Corporal 
T. McMahon, Munster Fusiliers, and the Cross of 
St. George, Fourth Class, to Lance-Sergeant L. 
Courtenay, Dublin Fusiliers. The list of decorations 
is so long that only a select few of those won by officers 
of the Brigade for gallant conduct in the capture of 
Guillamont and Guinchy can be given. Father 
Maurice O'Connell, the senior chaplain of the Brigade, 
got the Distinguished Service Order. Father Wraf- 
ter, S.J., and Father Doyle, S.J., got the Military 
Cross. All the Chaplains of the Division were indeed 
splendid. The others are : Fathers Browne, S.J., 
Burke, Cotter, O'Connor, and FitzMaurice, S.J. The 
official records show that the D.S.O. was also awarded 
to the following — 

152 



HONOURS AND DISTINCTIONS 153 

" Temporary Captain (temporary Major) Robert James 
Abbot Tamplin, Connaught Rangers. — He led his company with 
the greatest courage and determination, and was instrumental 
in capturing the position. He was wounded." 

" Second-Lieutenant Cyril Paxman Tiptaft, Connaught 
Rangers, Special Reserve. — With his platoon he consolidated 
and held for fourteen hours a strong point, thus preventing 
the enemy from getting behind our advanced positions, which 
they tried to do again and again. He set a fine example to 
his men, and kept up their spirits in spite of heavy casualties." 

" Temporary Lieutenant-Colonel George Alexander McLean 
Buckley, Leinster Regiment. — He led his battalion with the 
greatest courage and determination. He has on many occa- 
sions done very fine work." 

"Temporary Lieutenant-Colonel Edwin Henry Charles 
Patrick Bellingham, Royal Dublin Fusiliers. — He took com- 
mand of the two leading battalions when the situation was 
critical, and displayed the greatest determination under shell and 
machine-gun fire. The success of the operation was largely 
due to his quick appreciation of the situation, and his rapid 
consolidation of the position." 

" Temporary Captain John Patrick Hunt, Royal Dublin 
Fusiliers. — He formed and held a defensive flank for ten hours, 
until relieved, under heavy maehine-gun and rifle fire, thus 
frustrating the enemy's attempt to turn the flank." 

" Major Walter McClelland Crosbie, Royal Munster Fusiliers. 
— He led two companies with the greatest courage and initia- 
tive. Later, he organised the position with great skill, 
displaying great coolness throughout. He was wounded." 

The Military Crosses won included the following — 

" Captain William Joseph Rivers Reardon, Royal Irish 
Regiment, Special Reserve. — He led his men with great dash, 
and during a counter-attack, though wounded, stayed with a 
party of men in a most exposed position, till he could carry 
on no longer." 

" Lieutenant Edward Alexander Stoker, Royal Irish Regi- 
ment, Special Reserve. — With two or three men he went under 
heavy shell fire, and captured some enemy snipers. During 
the enemy counter-attack he brought a party of men across 
the open to the threatened flank, under heavy fire." 

" Temporary Second-Lieutenant Thomas Adams, Royal 
Inniskilling Fusiliers. — For conspicuous gallantry when lead- 
ing a raid. He entered the enemy's trenches, and it was 



154 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

largely due to his skill and determination that the raid was 
successful." 

" Temporary Second-Lieutenant Hugh Abbot Green, Royal 
Inniskilling Fusiliers. — When two senior company commanders 
had become casualties, he took command and led the men 
forward, capturing a portion of the final objective, which had 
been missed by the first attacking troops. He then advanced 
eighty yards, and, though himself wounded, consolidated 
his position." 

" Temporary Captain Victor Henry Parr, Royal Inniskilling 
Fusiliers. — He rallied men of different units in a wood during 
an enemy counter-attack, and, though wounded, led them 
forward and beat off the attack." 

" Temporary Second-Lieutenant Charles Lovell Naylor, 
Royal Irish Fusiliers. — He took command of his company 
when the other officers had become casualties, and showed 
great pluck when driving off a counter-attack. He then 
advanced and reoccupied one of our advanced posts." 

" Temporary Captain Thomas Francis O'Donnell, Royal 
Irish Fusiliers. — In the attack he dashed forward and led the 
battalion the whole way. He was first into the enemy's 
position, where he did fine work consolidating the defences." 

" Lieutenant Valentine Joseph Farrell, Leinster Regiment, 
Special Reserve. — When the senior officers of two companies 
had become casualties in the firing line he took command, and, 
by his fine example, kept his men together under intense 
fire." 

" Captain Charles Carleton Barry, Leinster Regiment, 
Special Reserve. — For conspicuous gallantry and devotion 
to duty when returning with another officer from reconnais- 
sance. The latter officer was severely wounded. Although 
wounded in the arm, Captain Barry succeeded in pulling his 
comrade into a shell hole, and dressing his wound. He finally 
succeeded in getting the officer back to our trench. These 
actions were carried out under heavy machine-gun and snipers' 
fire." 

" Temporary Second-Lieutenant Nicholas Hurst, Royal 
Dublin Fusiliers. — He organised a party to rush two machine- 
guns, which were holding up the advance, and, when the 
first party failed, he organised a second, which succeeded. The 
strong point was captured and two officers and thirty men 
made prisoners." 

" Temporary Second-Lieutenant Harold Arthur Jowett, 
Royal Dublin Fusiliers. — For conspicuous gallantry during 
an attack, moving up and down his line under heavy fire, 



HONOURS AND DISTINCTIONS 155 

encouraging his men and setting a fine example to all ranks. 
He displayed considerable coolness and skill in maintaining 
his position until the line was re-established." 

" Temporary Lieutenant William Kee, Royal Dublin 
Fusiliers. — Although twice wounded, he continued to lead 
his men during an attack until ordered back to the dressing 
station. He has several times carried out reconnaissance 
work most efficiently." 

" Temporary Lieutenant Eugene Patrick Quigley, Royal 
Dublin Fusiliers. — Though wounded, he brought a machine-gun 
into action against some enemy who were collecting to repel 
our attack. Not finding a suitable rest for one of his guns, 
he had it placed on his shoulder, where it opened fire." 

" Temporary Second-Lieutenant Dennis Joseph Baily, 
Royal Munster Fusiliers. — When all the officers round him 
had become casualties he took command and led the men 
forward with great dash and ability." 

" Temporary Lieutenant Labouchere Hillyer Bainbridge- 
Bell, Royal Munster Fusiliers. He continually repaired 
breaks in the line during several days of heavy shelling, never 
hesitating to go out when the wires were cut. He was several 
times smothered in debris, and was much bruised." 

" Temporary Captain Cecil William Chandler, Royal Mun- 
ster Fusiliers. — Although wounded, he led his men and beat 
off repeated enemy attacks, displaying great courage and 
initiative throughout." 

" Temporary Captain Maurice Fletcher, Royal Munster 
Fusiliers. — He directed a working party, close to the enemy's 
line, and completed his task under continuous shelling and 
rifle fire. He has done other fine work." 

" Temporary Lieutenant Fabian Strachan Woodley, Royal 
Munster Fusiliers. — By his skill and determination he beat 
off three counter-attacks of the enemy, who were endeavouring 
to reach his trench. Four days later he led his men in two 
attacks with great pluck." 

Captain Place, Royal Irish Regiment, was awarded bar to 
Cross he had already won. 

These official records, brief and coldly phrased 
though they be, cannot be read without a thrill of pride 
in the race which produced the men. There is one 
other account of the winning of a Military Cross that 
must be specially given, for it describes the feats of 
"the boy hero of Guinchy," Second-Lieutenant James 



156 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

Emmet Dalton, of the Dublin Fusiliers. He joined 
the Army in January 1916, and was only eighteen 
years of age when he took command and proved him- 
self a born leader of men at Guinchy. The following 
is the official record, which, happily, is more extended 
than usual — 

"At the capture of Guinchy, on the 9th of Septem- 
ber, 1 9 16, he displayed great bravery and leadership 
in action. When, owing to the loss of officers, the 
men of two companies were left without leaders, he 
took command and led these companies to their final 
objective. After the withdrawal of another brigade 
and the right flank of his battalion was in the rear, 
he carried out the protection of the flank, under intense 
fire, by the employment of machine-guns in selected 
commanding and successive positions. After dark, 
whilst going about supervising the consolidation of 
the position, he, with only one sergeant escorting, 
found himself confronted by a party of the enemy, 
consisting of one officer and twenty men. By his 
prompt determination the party were overawed and, 
after a few shots, threw up their arms and surrendered." 

The Irish Brigade also got a second Victoria Cross 
at the Battle of the Somme. It was won by Lieu- 
tenant John Vincent Holland of the Leinster Regiment 
for most conspicuous bravery. He was born at Athy, 
co. Kildare, the son of John Holland, a past President 
of the Royal College of Veterinary Surgeons of 
Ireland, was educated at the Christian Brothers' 
Schools, and Clongowies Wood College. At the out- 
break of war he was employed in the chief mechanical 
engineers' department of the Central Argentine Rail- 
way at Rosario, and, hastening home, got his com- 
mission in the Leinster Regiment. For his services 
at the Front he received the Certificate of the Irish 



HONOURS AND DISTINCTIONS 157 

Brigade. It was at Guillamont that Leiutenant Hol- 
land won the Victoria Cross. The official account of 
his exploits is as follows — 

"For most conspicuous bravery during a heavy 
engagement, when, not content with bombing hostile 
dug-outs within the objective, he fearlessly led his 
bombers through our own artillery barrage and cleared 
a great part of the village in front. He started out 
with twenty-six bombers and finished up with only 
five, after capturing some fifty prisoners. By this 
very gallant action he undoubtedly broke the spirit 
of the enemy, and thus saved us many casualties 
when the battalion made a further advance. He was 
far from well at the time, and later had to go to 
hospital." 

As proof of Lieutenant Holland's dash it is related 
that the night before the engagement he made a bet 
of five pounds with a brother officer that he would be 
first over the parapet when the order came. He won 
the bet, the V.C., and, in addition, he was made a 
Chevalier of the Legion of Honour and of St. George 
of Russia. 



CHAPTER XIV 
THE WOODEN CROSS 

DEATH OF LIEUTENANT T. M. KETTLE OF THE DUBLINS 

For all this glory and renown the Irish Brigade 
had to pay a bitter price. Many a home in Ireland 
was made forlorn and desolate. The roads of the 
countryside by which the men went off to the war will 
be lonely and drear for ever to womenfolk, for never 
again will they be brightened by the returning foot- 
steps of son or husband. 

One of the most grievous losses which the Brigade 
sustained was the death of Lieutenant-Colonel Lenox- 
Conyngham of the Connaught Rangers. He came 
of an Ulster soldier family. He was the son of 
Colonel Sir W. Fitzwilliam Lenox-Conyngham of 
Springhill, co. Derry, was born in 1861, and three of 
his brothers were also serving in the Army with the 
rank of Colonel. He fell at the head of his battalion, 
which was foremost in the rush for Guillamont. "I 
cannot imagine a more fitting death for him," writes 
Captain Stephen Gwynn, M.P., who served under 
Colonel Lenox-Conyngham since the days the bat- 
talion was formed at Fermoy. "He was never in 
doubt as to how his men would acquit themselves. 
To us officers he said things in private which would 
sound a little arrogant if I quoted them — and yet they 
have been made good." The welfare of the men was 
always his first concern. Captain Gwynn relates that 

158 



THE WOODEN CROSS 159 

on the return of the battalion one night, after a dreary 
day of field operations at home, the company officers, 
feeling very miserable, were gathered about the door 
of their mess-room, waiting for dinner, when the 
Colonel called out that their proper place was in the 
cook-house, seeing that the men were first served. 
The incident greatly rejoiced the heart of Captain 
Gwynn, for, having served in the ranks, he knew that 
the officer who is best served by the men is he who 
places their comfort and well-being before his own. 
In France, whenever any compliment was paid to 
Colonel Lenox-Conyngham, he could not be content 
until, with frank generosity, he passed it on to the 
company officers. "It is you who have done it," he 
would say. " He was right too," says Captain Gwynn. 
"We did the work, and no men were ever less inter- 
fered with ; but we did it as we had been taught to do 
it, and because we were kept up to it at every point." 

I can only mention a few typical cases of the 
officers of the Irish Brigade killed at Guillamont 
and Guinchy. Lieutenant E. R. F. Becher, of the 
Munster Fusiliers, was but nineteen, and the only 
child of E. W. Becher, Lismore, co. Waterford. He 
was descended in direct line from Colonel Thomas 
Becher, who was aide-de-camp to King William at 
the Battle of the Boyne, and was on that occasion 
presented by the King with his watch, which is still 
an heirloom in the family. Captain H. R. Lloyd of 
the Royal Irish Regiment was descended from the 
ensign who carried the colours of the Coldstream 
Guards at Waterloo. He was educated at Drogheda 
Grammar School, and was at business in Brazil when 
the war broke out. Lieutenant J. T. Kennedy of the 
Inniskillings was editor of the Northern Standard, 
Monaghan. Lieutenant Charles P. Close of the 
Dublin Fusiliers was a native of Limerick, and con- 
ducted a teaching academy in that city. At the time 



160 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

he volunteered he was the commanding officer of the 
City Regiment of National Volunteers. Another 
officer of the National Volunteers was Lieutenant 
Hugh Maguire, son of Dr. Conor Maguire of Clare- 
morris. He was a university student when he volun- 
teered for service in response to the national call, and 
got a commission in the Connaught Rangers, but 
was temporarily attached to the Inniskillings when he 
was killed. Another gallant youth was Lieutenant 
Thomas Maxwell, Dublin Fusiliers, son of Surgeon 
Patrick W. Maxwell of Dublin, who was in his 
twenty-first year when he fell while in temporary com- 
mand of the leading company of his battalion in the 
taking of Guinchy. Then there is Second-Lieutenant 
Bevan Nolan. He was the third son of Walter Nolan, 
Clerk of the Crown for South Tipperary. When the 
war broke out he was in Canada, and, returning at 
once, obtained a commission in the Royal Irish Regi- 
ment. He was a very gallant young officer, and most 
popular with his comrades. In the camp the general 
verdict was : "Nolan is destined for the V.C., or to die 
at the head of his platoon." He was only twenty-one 
years of age, and a splendid type of young Tipperary. 
The greatest loss in individual brain-power which 
Ireland suffered was through the death of that brilliant 
man of letters and economist, Lieutenant T. M. Kettle 
of the Dublin Fusiliers. He was a son of Andrew 
J. Kettle, a Dublin farmer, one of the founders of 
the Land League, and a member of the executive who 
in 1 88 1, on the arrest of the leaders, Parnell, Davitt 
and Dillon, signed the No-Rent Manifesto addressed 
to the tenants. In the House of Commons, where he 
sat as a Nationalist from 1906 to 19 10, young Kettle 
made a reputation for eloquence and humour of quite 
a fresh vein. He resigned on his appointment as 
Professor of National Economics in the National Uni- 
versity of Ireland. He was married to Margaret, 
daughter of David Sheehy, M.P., whose sister is the 



THE WOODEN CROSS 161 

widow of Sheehy Skeffington, shot by the military in 
the Dublin Rebellion. J 

In public life Kettle was a vivid figure, and very 
Irish. At first he belonged to the extreme, or irrecon- 
cilable section of Nationalists, noted for a cast of 
thought or bias of reasoning which finds that no good 
tor Ireland can come out of England. When Eng- 
land was fighting the Boers he distributed anti-recruft- 
mg leaflets in the streets of Dublin. To his con- 
stituents in East Tyrone he once declared that Ireland 
had no national independence to protect against 
foreign invasion. "I confess," he added, referring 
to the over-taxation of Ireland, "I see many reasons 
tor preferring German invasion to British methods of 
finance in Ireland." But increased knowledge brought 
wider views. As a result of his experiences in Par- 
liament, where he found in all parties a genuine desire 
to do what was best for Ireland according to their 
lights, he approached the consideration of Irish ques- 
tions with a remarkably tolerant, broad-minded and 
practical spirit. When the war broke out there was 
no more powerful champion of the Allies. The inva- 
sion of Belgium, which he had witnessed as a news- 
paper correspondent, moved him to an intense hatred 
of Germany, and, throwing himself with all his energy 
into the recruiting campaign in Ireland, he addressed 
no fewer than two hundred meetings, bringing thou- 
sands of his countrymen to the Colours. One of his 
epigrammatic and pointed sayings— suggested by the 
ill-favour of absentee landlordism of old in Ireland- 
was : "Nowadays the absentee is the man who stays 
at home." 

In a letter written to a friend on the night his bat- 
talion was moving up to the Somme, Kettle said he 
had had two chances of leaving — one on account of 
sickness and the other to take a Staff appointment. 
"I have chosen to stay with my comrades," he writes. 
"The bombardment, destruction and bloodshed are 



162 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

beyond all imagination. Nor did I ever think that 
valour of simple men could be quite as beautiful as 
that of my Dublin Fusiliers." On the eve of his 
death he wrote to his wife another fine tribute to his 
battalion. "I have never," he says, "seen anything 
in my life so beautiful as the clean and, so to say, 
radiant manner of my Dublin Fusiliers. There is 
something divine in men like that." 

Kettle fell in the storming of Guinchy. His friend 
and comrade, Lieutenant James Emmet Dalton, M.C., 
states that they were both in the trenches in Trones 
Wood opposite Guillamont, on the morning of Sep- 
tember 8th, discussing the loss of two hundred men 
and seven officers which the battalion had sustained 
the day before from German shell fire, when an orderly 
arrived with a note for each of them, saying, "Be in 
readiness. Battalion will take up A and B position 
in front of Guinchy to-night at 12 midnight." Lieu- 
tenant Dalton continues: "I was with Tom when he 
advanced to the position that night, and the stench 
of the dead that covered our road was so awful that 
we both used some foot-powder on our faces. When 
we reached our objective we dug ourselves in, and 
then, at five o'clock p.m. on the 9th, we attacked 
Guinchy. I was just behind Tom when we went over 
the top. He was in a bent position, and a bullet got 
over a steel waistcoat that he wore and entered his 
heart. Well, he only lasted about one minute, and 
he had my crucifix in his hands. Then Boyd took all 
the papers and things out of Tom's pockets in order 
to keep them for Mrs. Kettle, but poor Boyd was 
blown to atoms in a few minutes. The Welsh Guards 
buried Mr. Kettle's remains. Tom's death has been 
a big blow to the regiment, and I am afraid that I 
could not put in words my feelings on the subject." 
In another letter Lieutenant Dalton says : "Mr. Kettle 
died a grand and holy death — the death of a soldier 
and a true Christian." 



THE WOODEN CROSS 163 

Lieutenant Kettle left his political testament in a 
letter to his wife and in verses addressed to his little 
daughter. The letter, written a few days before his 
death, with directions that it was to be sent to Mrs. 
Kettle if he were killed, says — 

" Had I lived I had meant to call my next book on the 
relations of Ireland and England The Two Fools; A Tragedy 
of Errors. It has needed all the folly of England and all the 
folly of Ireland to produce the situation in which our unhappy 
country is now involved. I have mixed much with English- 
men and with Protestant Ulstermen, and I know that there 
is no real or abiding reason for the gulfs, Salter than the sea, 
that now dismember the natural alliance of both Of them with 
us Irish Nationalists. It needs only a Fiat Lux of a kind very 
easily compassed to replace the unnatural by the natural. 
In the name, and by the seal, of the blood given in the last 
two years I ask for Colonial Home Rule for Ireland, a thing 
essential in itself, and essential as a prologue to the recon- 
struction of the Empire. Ulster will agree. And I ask for 
the immediate withdrawal of martial law in Ireland, and an 
amnesty for all Sinn Fein prisoners. If this war has taught 
us anything it is that great things can be done only in a great 
way." 

The lines, "To my daughter Betty — The Gift of 
Love," were written "In the field before Guillamont, 
Somme, September 4, 1916 — 

" In wiser days, my darling rosebud, blown 

To beauty proud as was your mother's prime — 
In that desired, delayed, incredible time 

You'll ask why I abandoned you, my own, 

And the dear breast that was your baby's throne, 
To dice with death, and, oh ! they'll give you rhyme 
And reason; one will call the thing sublime, 

And one decry it in a knowing tone. 

So here, while the mad guns curse overhead, 
And tired men sigh, with mud for couch and floor, 

Know that we fools, now with the foolish dead, 
Died not for Flag, nor King, nor Emperor, 

But for a dream, born in a herdsman shed 
And for the secret Scripture of the poor." 

These young leaders have won the wooden cross — 
the symbol of the supreme sacrifice they made that 



164 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

others might live; the symbol, also, of eternal peace 
for themselves — the wooden cross which marks their 
graves. From north, south, east and west of Ireland, 
of differing creeds, of opposing political opinions 
— these men of the Irish Brigade and the Ulster 
Division — they lie, as they fought, side by side, 
comrades in a noble cause. It is sad to think of the 
many rare intelligences, ardent and glowing spirits, 
which are quenched for ever in the little cemeteries 
that have sprung up along the Allied Front. The 
loss to Ireland is incalculable. But gain might come 
from it, which, weighed in the balance, would not be 
found wanting, if only the solemn lesson which it 
teaches were brought home to all : that one in Irish 
name, as one in Irish fame, are the northerners and 
southerners who died in France for the liberation of 
humanity. 

Major-General Hickie — as mindful of the memories 
of those of his men who have fallen as of the well- 
being of those still in the fighting ranks — erected as 
a memorial to the dead of the Irish Brigade a statue 
in white marble of Our Lady of Victories in a town 
of the district. Another striking proof of his esteem 
for the men is afforded by the following Order which 
he issued on December 18, 1916 — 

" To-day is the anniversary of the landing of the Irish 
Division in France. The Divisional Commander wishes to 
express his appreciation of the spirit which has been shown 
by all ranks during the past year. He feels that the Division 
has earned the right to adopt the motto which was granted 
by the King of France to the Irish Brigade, which served in 
this country for a hundred years : ' Everywhere and always 
faithful.' With the record of the past, with the memory of 
our gallant dead, with this motto to live up to, and with our 
trust in God, we can face the future with confidence." 

God Save the King. 



CHAPTER XV 

MORE IRISH HEROES OF THE 
VICTORIA CROSS 

DEEDS OF THE HIGHEST MERIT AND LUSTRE 

In this war Victoria Crosses are being won in 
remarkably large numbers, despite dangers and suf- 
ferings immeasurably greater than were ever conceived 
of in any war of the past. It would seem, indeed, as 
if human nature is capable of withstanding any test to 
which it can conceivably be put. "Man," said Mr. 
Lloyd George, "is the bravest animal that God has 
made; and, in comparison with him, the lion is an 
arrant coward." 

Up to the end of 1916 the war has contributed 221 
additional names to that golden chronicle of valorous 
deeds — The Roll of the Victoria Cross. Of these as 
many as thirty-five are Irishmen. That is a most 
glorious achievement, having regard to the proportion 
of Irishmen in the Army. The number, taking the 
Irish regiments, the Irishmen in English and Scottish 
regiments and in the forces of the different Do- 
minions, is altogether about 500,000; and estimating 
the entire strength of the Army to be 5,000,000, it will 
be seen that if the other nationalities won Victoria 
Crosses in the same ratio to their numbers as the Irish, 
the Roll of the present war would contain not 221, but 
350 names. To put it in another way, the Irish on a 
basis of numbers would be entitled only to twenty-two 

165 



166 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

of the 221 Victoria Crosses that have actually been 
awarded. 

But however that may be, the Irish part of the Roll, 
as it stands, will be found to be a very thrilling record 
of the gallantry of Irish officers and men in the various 
theatres of war. Twenty of the thirty-five Irish heroes 
of the Victoria Cross are dealt with in the first series 
of The Irish at the Front. Of the remaining fifteen, 
the deeds of four are recounted in the exploits of the 
Ulster Division ; one, in the story of the Irish Brigade 
—the second Cross that fell to the Brigade having 
been won by an English officer — and the other ten are 
dealt with here. 

Sub-Lieutenant Arthur Walderne St. Clair Tisdall, 
V.C., of the Royal Naval Volunteer Reserve, was 
another of the many gallant Irishmen who distin- 
guished themselves at the memorable first landing at 
Gallipoli on April 25, 1915, when the Munsters and 
the Dublins won imperishable renown. The an- 
nouncement of the award of the Victoria Cross to 
Sub-Lieutenant Tisdall was not made until March 31, 
1916. The following official statement explains the 
delay — 

" During the landing from the ss. River Clyde at V Beach, 
in* the Gallipoli Peninsula, on April 25, 191 5, Sub-Lieutenant 
Tisdall, hearing wounded men on the beach calling for assist- 
ance, jumped into the water, and, pushing a boat in front 
of him, went to their rescue. He was, however, obliged to 
obtain help, and took with him on two trips Leading Seaman 
Malin, and on other trips Chief Petty Officer Perring and 
Leading Seamen Curtiss and Parkinson. In all Sub- 
Lieutenant Tisdall made four or five trips between the ship 
and the shore, and was thus responsible for rescuing many 
wounded men under heavy and accurate fire. Owing to the 
fact that Sub-Lieutenant Tisdall and the platoon under his 
orders were on detached service at the time, and that this 
officer was killed in action on May 6, it has now only been 
possible to obtain complete information as to the individuals 
who took part in this gallant act." 



MORE IRISH HEROES OF THE V.C. 167 

Sub-Lieutenant Tisdall came of a well-known Irish 
family, the Tisdalls of Charlesfort, who have been 
established in co. Meath since the year 1668. The 
late head of the family, Major Tisdall of the Irish 
Guards, fell guarding the retreat of the British Army 
in France in September 1914. The volume of Memoirs 
and Poems of A. W. St. C. Tisdall, F.C., by Mrs. 
M. L. Tisdall, states that among his ancestors and 
relatives on both sides were " Crusaders, Royalists, 
who lost everything — even their family name — for 
King Charles I; Scotch Covenanters and French 
Huguenots, who had been driven from their own 
countries for their faith's sake; Irish patriots who 
fought at the Battle of the Boyne, a Danish Diplo- 
matist who had danced with Queen Marie-Antoinette ; 
an ancestress who is said to have fired the first cannon 
at the siege of Gibraltar; a famous Attorney-General 
for Ireland; a brilliant and versatile Cathedral Chan- 
cellor, a Bishop, three missionaries, and many uni- 
versity, military and naval men." He was born at 
Bombay on July 21, 1890, his father — the Rev. Dr. 
St. Clair Tisdall (now of St. George's Vicarage, Deal) 
— being then in charge of the Mohammedan mission 
of the Church Missionary Society. He was educated 
at Bedford School from 1900 to 1909, when he left as 
Scholar of Trinity College, Cambridge, where he had 
a distinguished career, culminating in the winning 
of the Chancellor's Gold Medal in the university in 
1913, after which he entered the Home Civil Service. 
On the outbreak of war he was called to the Colours 
as an A.B. of the Royal Naval Volunteer Reserve, of 
which he had been a member for some time previously. 
He served in the ranks in the Antwerp expedition, 
and was afterwards given a commission. By this 
time, the memoirs tell us, "he had acquired great self- 
control, and had practically conquered two of his Irish 
handicaps — viz. a hot temper and a certain carelessness, 



168 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

or casualness, in business. Latterly, the ' Tisdall 
temper,' as it is called in the family, only flashed out 
in the presence of what he considered wrong or 
unjust." 

The following extract from a letter by an officer of 
the Royal Navy who took part in the landing in Gal- 
lipoli was published in The Times on December 6, 
1916 — 

" It has been, unfortunately, my sad lot to write of the 
ending on this earth of many heroes, for I have been through 
much since August 191 4; but I sincerely assure you that I 
have never seen more daring and gallant deeds performed by 
any man, naval or military, than those performed by the 
man I now know to have been Sub-Lieutenant A. W. St. 
Clair Tisdall, Anson Battalion, R.N.V.R., at the landing 
from the River Clyde on that terrible ' V ' Beach. Through- 
out the afternoon of April 25 a boat containing an officer 
(unknown to all) and three bluejackets, one of them a petty 
officer, was very prominent. The officer and the petty 
officer did the most daring of things, and were seen by very 
many. Time after time they visited that awful beach and 
brought back wounded officers and men. Darkness came 
on and that officer was nowhere to be found. All the petty 
officer and bluejackets could say was, ' He's one of those 
Naval Division gents.' Days and weeks passed away, and 
I and others never ceased trying to find out if we could who 
and where the unknown hero was. Over and over we dis- 
cussed in the River Clyde and in dug-outs on the beach how 
those two had escaped." 

It was not till June 15, 1915, that the writer of the 
letter learned who the hero was. He adds : " His 
very saving of the wounded and the handling of them 
was in itself the work of an artist, and a very great 
one." The end of this gallant officer is told by an 
A.B. of the Anson Battalion, who, writing to Mrs. 
Tisdall, says: "On May 6 the Naval Division got 
orders to make an advance, which we did, and ad- 
vanced about a mile. When we got nicely settled 
in the enemy trench your son stood up on the parapet, 



MORE IRISH HEROES OF THE V.C. 169 

looking for the enemy, but was not there long before 
he was shot through the chest, and he never said one 
word." This was at the first battle of Achi Baba. 
Tisdall was buried on the night of May 7, a few yards 
from where he fell. It was a glorious death, but far 
from the kind of death he had dreamt of. In a poem, 
"Love and Death," written in 1910, he says — 

" Be love for me no hoarse and headstrong tide, 
Breaking upon a deep-rent, sea-filled coast, 
But a strong river on which sea-ships glide, 
And the lush meadows are its peaceful boast. 

Be death for me no parting red and raw 
Of soul and body, even in glorious pain, 

But while my children's children wait in awe, 
May peaceful darkness still the toilsome brain." 

Corporal William Richard Cotter, an Irishman 
serving in the East Kent Regiment, got the V.C. for 
an act of unexampled courage and endurance. It 
was a deed which showed to what heights the bravery 
of Irish soldiers can soar. On the night of March 6, 
1 9 16, in the course of a raid made by his company 
along an enemy trench, his own bombing party was 
cut off owing to heavy casualties in the centre of 
the attack. The situation was so serious that Cotter 
went back under heavy fire to report and bring up 
more bombs. On the return journey his right leg 
was blown off close below the knee, and he was 
wounded in both arms. By a kind of miracle, the 
miracle of human courage, he did not drop down and 
die in the mud of the trench — mud so deep that un- 
wounded men found it hard to walk in it — but made 
his way for fifty yards towards the crater where his 
comrades were hard pressed. He came up to Lance- 
Corporal Newman, who was bombing with his sector 
to the right of the position. Cotter called to him and 
directed him to bomb six feet towards where help was 



i 7 o THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

most needed, and worked his way forward to the crater 
against which the Germans were making a violent 
counter-attack. Men fell rapidly under the enemy's 
bomb fire, but Cotter, with only one leg, and bleeding 
from both arms, took charge. The enemy were 
repulsed after two hours' righting, and only then did 
Cotter allow his wounds to be bandaged. From the 
dug-out where he lay while the bombardment still 
continued he called out cheery words to the men, until 
he was carried down, fourteen hours later. He died 
of his wounds. A wonderful story of gallantry, en- 
durance and fortitude, it would seem almost incredible 
were it not established by official record of the award- 
ing of the V.C. to Corporal Cotter — 

" For most conspicuous bravery and devotion to duty. 
When his right leg had been blown off at the knee, and he 
had also been wounded in both arms, he made his way un- 
aided for fifty yards to a crater, steadied the men who were 
holding it, controlled their fire, issued orders, and altered the 
dispositions of his men to meet a fresh counter-attack by 
the enemy. For two hours he held his position, and only 
allowed his wounds to be roughly dressed when the attack 
had quieted down. He could not be moved back for fourteen 
hours, and during all this time had a cheery word for all who 
passed him. There is no doubt that his magnificent courage 
helped greatly to save a critical situation." 

Cotter was born at Sandgate, near Folkestone, of 
Irish parents who came from Limerick, and was thirty- 
four years of age. He was educated at the Catholic 
School, Folkestone. Always fond of adventure, he 
ran away to sea as a boy. He then enlisted in the 
Army, and, after twelve years in the Buffs, came out 
on the Reserve in 1914, and was employed by the 
Sandgate Council. He was called up at the outbreak 
of war. He had lost an eye as the result of an acci- 
dent, but nevertheless was sent on active service, and 
this disability enhances the extraordinary heroism of 



MORE IRISH HEROES OF THE V.C. 171 

his deed. He was the eldest of six sons, one of whom 
was killed in France, one was in the Navy, one in 
Salonika, and another died after serving in the South 
African War. The chaplain of his regiment wrote to 
his parents informing them of his death, and said his 
last words were "Good-bye, God bless them all." 
Cotter was previously recommended for the Distin- 
guished Conduct Medal in December 1915. 

Thomas Hughes, of the Connaught Rangers, got 
the V.C. for most conspicuous bravery and determina- 
tion. The official record adds: "He was wounded 
in an attack, but returned at once to the firing line 
after having his wounds dressed. Later, seeing a 
hostile machine-gun, he dashed out in front of his 
company, shot the gunner, and single-handed cap- 
tured the gun. Though again wounded, he brought 
back three or four prisoners." He was born at Cor- 
ravoo, near Castleblayney, co. Monaghan, his father 
being a farmer, and was at the Curragh, employed as 
a jockey in a racing stable, until, on the outbreak of 
war, he joined the Connaught Rangers. 

"Come on, the Dubs." This slogan was heard at 
a critical moment during one of the pushes on the 
Somme in the summer of 1916. It was shouted by 
Sergeant Robert Downie of the Dublin Fusiliers, 
and his coolness and resource in danger saved the 
situation and got him the Victoria Cross. The 
Dublins have been through many memorable cam- 
paigns and battles and have won many honours, but 
Sergeant Downie is the first of his regiment to win the 
most prized of all distinctions. The following is the 
official record of the award — 

" For most conspicuous bravery and devotion to duty in 
attack. When most of the officers had become casualties, 
this non-commissioned officer, utterly regardless of personal 
danger, moved about under heavy fire and reorganised the 
attack, which had been temporarily checked. At the critical 



172 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

moment he rushed forward alone, shouting, ' Come on, the 
Dubs.' This stirring appeal met with immediate response, 
and the line rushed forward at his call. Sergeant Downie 
accounted for several of the enemy, and in addition captured 
a machine-gun, killing the team. Though wounded early 
in the fight, he remained with his company, and gave valu- 
able assistance, whilst the position was being consolidated. 
It was owing to Sergeant Downie's courage and initiative 
that this important position, which had resisted four or five 
previous attacks, was won." 

Sergeant Downie is twenty-three years of age. He 
was born in Glasgow of Irish parents, both his father 
and mother being natives of Laurencetown, co. Down, 
and received his education at St. Aloysius' Catholic 
Schools, Springburn, Glasgow. He is one of a family 
of sixteen, of whom thirteen are alive. His father was 
employed for thirty years in the Hydepark Locomotive 
Works, Glasgow, as an oiler and beltman. After 
leaving school young Downie served for some time 
in the same works as his father, and at the age of 
eighteen he enlisted in the Dublin Fusiliers. He went 
to France with the Expeditionary Force. He is 
married, and his wife lives with her two children at 
Springburn. 

A wounded officer of the Dublins thus describes 
how Downie won the V.C. — 

" For coolness and resource under danger, it would be 
impossible to beat Downie. The ordeal we had to go through 
that day was one of the most severe we have struck since the 
present war, and, as you know, the ' Dubs ' have been in 
many tight corners. We had orders to advance against a 
position that had so far resisted all efforts of our men to take. 
We knew it had to be taken this time, be the cost what it 
might. We went over with a good heart. The men were 
magnificent. They faced their ordeal without the slightest 
sign of wavering. The enemy's fire was ploughing through 
our ranks. We lost heavily. In a short time there was not 
an officer left capable of giving directions. It was only then 
that the attack began to falter. At that moment the enemy 



MORE IRISH HEROES OF THE V.C. 173 

fire increased its intensity. It was many times worse than 
any hell I have ever heard of. The machine-gun fire of the 
enemy swept across the ground like great gusts of wind, and 
the finest troops in the world might have been pardoned for 
a momentary hesitation in face of such fire. Downie took 
the situation in. He ran along the line of shell holes in which 
the men were sheltering and cried out, ' Come on, the Dubs.' 
" The effect was electrical. The men sprang from their 
cover, and under his leadership dashed to the attack on the 
enemy position. Their blood was now up, and there was no 
stopping them until the goal was reached. The immediate 
approach to the part of the trench they were attacking was 
swept by the fire of one machine-gun that galled the attacking 
party a lot. Downie made straight for that. Using alter- 
nately bomb, bayonet, and rifle, he wiped out the entire crew, 
and captured the gun, which he quickly turned on the enemy. 
The effect of this daring exploit was soon felt. The enemy 
resistance weakened, and the Dublin lads were soon in pos- 
session of the trench. It was later on, when the attack was 
being pressed home, that Downie was wounded. It was 
severe enough to justify any man in dropping out, but Downie 
was made of better stuff. He stuck to his men, and for the 
rest of the day he directed their operations with a skill and 
energy that defeated repeated attempts of the enemy to win 
back the lost ground. Throughout the very difficult opera- 
tions his cheery disposition and his eye for discerning the 
best thing to do in given circumstances, were as good as a 
reinforcement to the hard-pressed Irishmen." 

Captain John A. Sinton, Indian Medical Service, 
was awarded the Victoria Cross, after the action at 
Shaikh Saad in Mesopotamia. The official record is 
as follows — 

" For most conspicuous bravery and devotion to duty. 
Although shot through both arms and through the side he 
refused to go to hospital, and remained as long as daylight 
lasted attending to his duties under very heavy fire. In 
three previous actions Captain Sinton displayed the utmost 
bravery." 

Captain Sinton was born in Lisburn, co. Antrim, 
and is thirty-one years of age. He is a member of a 
well-known Quaker family. As a boy he went to the 



174 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

Memorial School in Lisburn, named after the heroic 
Brigadier-General, John Nicholson, of the Indian 
Mutiny, and afterwards attended the Royal Belfast 
Academical Institution. He had a brilliant career in 
the Medical School at Queen's University, Belfast. 
He took first place at the examination for the Indian 
Medical Service at the School of Tropical Medicine 
in Liverpool. He went to India in 1912, and was 
attached to the 31st Duke of Connaught's Own 
Lancers at Kohat. At the outbreak of war he trans- 
ferred to the Dogras, in order to take part in the 
operations of the Indian Expeditionary Force in the 
Persian Gulf. 

Private Henry Kenny of the Loyal North Lan- 
cashire Regiment is another London Irishman, and 
the third of the name of Kenny who have gained the 
coveted V.C. The stories of the other two Kennys 
are told in the first series of The Irish at the Front. 
Private Kenny's father is a native of Limerick, where 
all his people belonged to, and from where he moved 
to England with his parents. Private Kenny himself 
was born in Hackney, London, and enlisted, at the 
age of eighteen, in 1906. On the outbreak of war he 
was recalled to the Colours as a reservist, and took 
part in many famous engagements. The official 
record of his gallantry is as follows — 

" For most conspicuous bravery. Private Kenny went out 
on six different occasions on one day under a very heavy 
shell, rifle and machine-gun fire, and each time succeeded in 
carrying to a place of safety a wounded man who had been 
lying in the open. He was himself wounded in the neck 
whilst handing the last man over the parapet." 

When Kenny was invalided home on account of the 
wounds he received in performing the noble action for 
which he won the Victoria Cross, he made no refer- 
ence to his achievement. The sixth man whom he 



MORE IRISH HEROES OF THE V.C. 175 

rescued was his own Colonel, and it was while he was 
bearing his commanding officer into safety that he was 
himself wounded. On his return home for a holiday 
after the announcement of the award he visited the 
House of Commons, and was introduced to Sir E. 
Carson, Lord and Lady Pirrie, Mr. and Mrs. Red- 
mond, Lord Wimborne and Colonel Churchill, and 
had tea on the terrace. 

There was much rejoicing amongst the pupils and 
staff of the Royal Hibernian Military School, Phoenix 
Park, Dublin, when it became known that the greatest 
honour that can be bestowed upon a soldier— the 
Victoria Cross— had been won by a former pupil of 
the school in the person of Private Frederick Jeremiah 
Edwards, of the Middlesex Regiment. There are 
three Royal Military Schools in the United Kingdom 
(the Duke of York's School, near London, the Queen 
Victoria School in Scotland, and the Royal Hibernian 
School), and naturally there was keen anxiety amongst 
them as to which would be the first to place a V.C. 
to its credit in the present war. The Irish school has 
won, thanks to Private "Jerry" Edwards. He is the 
second "old boy " of the Hibernian School to win the 
V C the previous occasion on which the distinction 
was gained being during the Crimean War Private 
Edwards was born at Queenstown, co. Cork, the son 
of a soldier. He entered the Hibernian School at 
seven years of age. He is spoken of as a bright, 
intelligent and plucky lad by the schoolmasters, to 
whom his lively spirits were oftentimes a source of 
WO rry— and, per'haps, of trouble for "Jerry. When 
he was fourteen he left the school to join the Army. 
The circumstances under which he won the V.C. in 
his twenty-first year are thus officially described— 

" For most conspicuous bravery and resource His part 
of the line was held up by machine-gun fire, and all officers 



176 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

had become casualties. There was confusion and indication 
of retirement. Private Edwards, grasping the situation, on 
his own initiative dashed out towards the gun, which he 
knocked out with his bombs. This very gallant act, coupled 
with great presence of mind and a total disregard of personal 
danger, made further advance possible and cleared up a 
dangerous situation." 

A former schoolmate of Private Edwards, and a 
comrade in the Middlesex Regiment, gives the follow- 
ing more specific particulars of the hero's courage and 
determination in carrying along the wavering men by 
the force of his example — 

" The day our regiment went over there was some^wild work. 
The enemy concentrated on our part of the line a furious fire. 
There was absolutely no cover for a great part of the way. 
One by one our officers were picked off. Young Lieutenant 

was the last to go. As he fell he called to the men to 

go right on. They did so for a time, but things got worse, 
and finally the men seemed to lose heart. ' Jerry ' Edwards 
declared that he wasn't going back. He sprang forward into 
the thick hail of machine-gun bullets, in full view of the taunt- 
ing Huns on their parapet. ' This way, Die-hards,' he cried, 
and at the sound of the glorious old nickname the men re- 
covered from their panic. Gradually order was restored, and 
the men followed Edwards up to the enemy parapet. This 
was stormed in a few minutes. Edwards himself bowled 
over a machine-gun and its crew. He picked up a couple of 
bombs and threw them. Privates behind him handed up more, 
and from an exposed position on the enemy parapet he kept 
raining bombs on the foe. The gun and crew were blown to 
bits, and the rest of the enemy bolted to their next position. 
Edwards saw what they were up to, and, leading some of the 
men by the near cut, he intercepted the flying enemy. Then 
a great bombing match began. Our lads won, thanks to the 
way the team was handled by Edwards. Though the position 
was dangerous for some time afterwards, we held on, and 
finally consolidated the ground." 

The finest quality in gallantry is that which impels 
a soldier to leave a place of safety voluntarily, and, 
though he is not under the excitement of battle, to 
plunge with cool calculation into some danger which 
he knows and has estimated to its full extent. For a 



MORE IRISH HEROES OF THE V.C. 177 

deed of valour of that character the Victoria Cross was 
given to Private William Young, East Lancashire 
Regiment. The official record says — 

" On seeing that his sergeant had been wounded he left 
his trench to attend to him under very heavy fire. The 
wounded non-commissioned officer requested Private Young 
to get under cover, but he refused, and was almost immediately 
very seriously wounded by having both jaws shattered. Not- 
withstanding his terrible injuries, Private Young continued 
endeavouring to effect the rescue upon which he had set his 
mind, and eventually succeeded with the aid of another 
soldier. He then went unaided to the dressing-station, where 
it was discovered that he had also been wounded by a rifle 
bullet in the chest. The great fortitude, determination, 
courage, and devotion to duty displayed by this soldier could 
hardly be surpassed." 

Private Young was born in Glasgow of Irish 
parents, and joined the East Lancashire Regiment in 
May 1899, when about twenty-one years of age. He 
was transferred to the Army Reserve in August 1902, 
and joined Section D, Army Reserve, in May 191 1. 
He responded to the mobilisation call on August 5, 
1914, and went to France on September 14, going all 
through the fighting until wounded at the battle of 
Ypres in November 1914, by a bullet in the thigh. 
Returning to the Front, he was "gassed," and the 
resulting injuries to his eyes laid him up for three 
weeks in hospital. On going back to the trenches the 
second time he performed his heroic deed on December 
22, 1915. 

Young's home was at Preston, where he had a wife 
and nine children, the youngest of whom was born 
while the father was at the war. In the following 
letter to his wife Private Young told how the news of 
his distinction was received by him in a military 
hospital in England, where he underwent an operation 
for the complete removal of his lower jaw and the 
fitting of an artificial one in its place. 



178 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

" Of course, long enough before you get this letter you will 
see by the papers that I have received the greatest honour 
that any Britisher can get, namely, the V.C., and, of course, 
I am naturally very proud of the great honour, both for my 
sake and the sake of you and the kiddies and the good old 
regiment I have the honour to belong to, and the old proud 
town of Preston. I was shaving when the news came through, 
and the matron and sisters, nurses and patients have the 
hands wrung off me, and I can see I could do with another 
pair of hands. There are telegrams coming every two or 
three minutes, so I have a busy time in front of me. I have 
another soldier from Lancashire helping me to answer them." 

Young's indomitable spirit was finely evidenced in 
a second letter to his wife — 

" I feel all right, seeing what I have gone through; in fact 
it was the grace of God, careful nursing, and a grand consti- 
tution that pulled me through. . . . You know the old saying, 
' Fools rush in where Angels dare not tread,' and if I was in 
the same place to-morrow I would do exactly the same thing. 
I knew that if I went over the wife and the kiddies would be 
well looked after. I am very glad to say that the sergeant 
I carried out is all right, and I expect in about a fortnight's 
time he will be at home on sick leave with his young wife, 
as he only got married just after the war broke out, so you]see 
it's an ill wind that blows nobody good." 

Young was able in April 1916 to visit Preston, 
where he was given a public welcome. But he had to 
return to hospital again, and died in August 1916. A 
local fund was raised, and so generously responded 
to that it was possible to invest a sum of over ^500 
for the family. 

Captain Henry Kelly of the Duke of Wellington's 
West Riding Regiment got the V.C. for deeds which 
are thus officially described — 

" For most conspicuous bravery in attack. He twice rallied 
his company under the heaviest fire, and finally led the only 
three available men into the enemy trench, and there remained 
bombing until two of them had become casualties and enemy 
reinforcements had arrived. He then carried his company 



MORE IRISH HEROES OF THE V.C. 179 

sergeant-major, who had been wounded, back to our trenches, 
a distance of seventy yards, and subsequently three other 
soldiers. He set a fine example of gallantry and endurance." 

Captain Kelly was born in Manchester of Irish 
parentage. His father was from Wicklow and his 
mother from Limerick. He is twenty-eight years of 
age, and joined the Manchester "Pals" with his 
younger brother on September 4, 1914. He was pro- 
moted to the rank of Sergeant-Major two months 
later, and in the following May was gazetted Second 
Lieutenant to the West Riding Regiment. Prior to 
joining the Army he was employed at the General 
Post Office in Manchester as a sorting clerk and tele- 
graphist. He was a prominent member of the Ancient 
Order of Hibernians, and also of the city branch of 
the United Irish League. He could speak the Irish 
language before he ever spent a holiday in Ireland. 
A detailed account of the circumstances in which 
Captain Kelly won the V.C. is given by a soldier in 
his company — 

" The enemy had pounded us unmercifully with their big 
guns, and the strain put on our men was so great that they 
began to waver. Captain Kelly sprang forward and urged 
his men to the attack under a blistering hot fire. They re- 
sponded with cheers, and under his direction they held a 
very exposed position for hours. Later, things looked black 
once more. So he up again and called on his lads to hold fast 
for all they were worth. To show his contempt for the danger 
to which we were exposed he led the way towards another 
position. He decided to have a cut in at the enemy's trench. 
He got hold of a non-com. and two privates belonging to the 
bombing section. With these he entered the enemy trench 
and started to bomb the Boches out. They got a good way 
along, driving before them an enemy more than big enough 
to eat up the whole company. Then Fritz was reinforced, 
and under the direction of a very brave officer the enemy began 
to push our party back. The two privates were knocked out, 
and Captain Kelly had to make for home. He picked up the 
sergeant-major and carried him out of the German trench. 
The enemy had many a pot shot at him, and the shell fire 



180 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

continued as well. It is a miracle how he escaped. The 
Boches were close on his heels. The captain just laid down 
his burden for a few minutes and threw a bomb or two at them. 
They skulked back. Then he picked up his burden and came 
marching back to us. All the way he was under heavy fire. 
After taking a look round to see how things were shaping he 
found that three of our chaps were out in the open, wounded. 
Immediately he set off to find them. One by one he carried 
them into safety, in spite of the furious fire kept up by the 
enemy." 

Australia is proud of Private Martin O'Meara, V.C, 
of the Australian Infantry. So also is Tipperary. 
He comes of an old Tipperary family, and has well 
sustained the splendid traditions of the fighting race. 
The official record of the award of the V.C. is as 
follows — 

" For most conspicuous bravery. During four days of very 
heavy fighting he repeatedly went out and brought in wounded 
officers^and men from ' No Man's Land ' under intense artillery 
and machine-gun fire. He also volunteered and carried up 
ammunition and bombs through a heavy barrage to a portion 
of the trenches which was being heavily shelled at the time. 
He showed throughout an utter contempt of danger and 
undoubtedly saved many lives." 

Private O'Meara, V.C, is thirty-two years of age. 
He is the youngest son of Mr. Thomas O'Meara, 
Rathcabbin, Birr, and is one of a family of nine chil- 
dren. Before he left Ireland, in 191 1, Private O'Meara 
worked as a tree-feller, and in Australia he continued 
to labour in the woods, being engaged in making rail- 
way sleepers at Collie in West Australia. In the 
August of 191 5 he answered the call to arms, and 
entered the Blackboy Training Camp as a member of 
the 1 2th reinforcements of the Australian Infantry. 
Before embarking from Australia a friend vouches 
that O'Meara said: "As I am going I will do the 
best I can to bring back the Victoria Cross." To 
achieve the highest award in the British Army was 



MORE IRISH HEROES OF THE V.C. 181 

evidently strongly before his mind. He was two 
months in France before going up to the trenches, 
where he remained five days in all, covering himself 
with glory and winning the V.C. in this short period. 
Private O'Meara got a fortnight's leave in October 
1 916 — two months after he had won the V.C. — and 
availed himself of it to visit his native place. The 
modesty of the man is to be seen in the mode of his 
home-coming. His family expected him, but did not 
know the exact date of his arrival. He got off the train 
at Birr Station and walked home — about five miles — in 
the darkness, along the disused Birr and Portumna 
railway line, which passes close to his home. No one 
recognised him at the station or along the way. He 
opened the door and walked in, surprising his brother 
and sister inside. At the end of his leave he returned 
almost as quietly as he had come. A fund to make 
him a presentation was raised locally, and a consider- 
able sum was invested in War stock, and a gold watch 
was bought. Advantage was taken of the presence 
of General Hickie, commanding an Irish Division, 
on a short visit from France to his home at Selvoir, 
North Tipperary, to have him present the gold watch 
to O'Meara. But O'Meara, like the genuine fighting 
man that he is, had immediately volunteered for active 
service on his return to London from home, after 
recovering from his wounds, and it was found ex- 
ceedingly difficult to get into touch with him. In 
fact, but for the interest taken by General Hickie it 
would have been impossible. Ultimately his exact 
whereabouts were learned through the War Office, 
and arrangements were made for his return. Even 
so, O'Meara could not get home in time for the 
presentation, and it was made to his brothers and 
sisters. Physically, he is a fine type of manhood, 
and in disposition is most lovable. 



CHAPTER XVI 
RELATIONS BETWEEN ENEMY TRENCHES 

IRISH KINDLINESS AND GERMAN GUILE 

In the trenches one evening a battalion of the 
Leinster Regiment held a "kailee" (ceilidh), or Irish 
sing-song, at which there was a spirited rendering of 
the humorous old ballad, "Bryan O'Lynn," sung to 
an infectiously rollicking tune. The opening verse 
runs — • 

" Bryan O'Lynn had no breeches to wear, 

So he bought a sheep-skin to make him a pair, 
With the woolly side out, and the skinny side in, 
Faix, 'tis pleasant and cool, says Brian iv O'Lynn." 

The swing of the tune took the fancy of the Ger- 
mans in their trenches, less than fifty yards away. 
With a " rumpty-tum-tumty-tum-tumty-tum-tum," they 
loudly hummed the air of the end of each verse, all 
unknowing that the Leinsters, singing at the top of 
their voices, gave the words a topical application — 

'* With the woolly side out and the skinny side in, 
Sure, We'll wallop the Gerrys, said Brian O'Lynn." 

Hearty bursts of laughter and cheers arose from 
both trenches at the conclusion of the song. It seemed 
as if the combatants gladly availed themselves of the 
chance opportunity of becoming united again in the 
common brotherhood of man, even for but a fleeting 
moment, by the spirit of good-humour and hilarity. 

182 



RELATIONS BETWEEN TRENCHES 183 

Lieutenant Denis Oliver Barnett, a young English 
officer of a different battalion of the same Leinster 
Regiment (whose letters from the Front have been 
published as a memorial by his parents), tells of a more 
curious incident still, which likewise led to a brief 
cessation of hostilities. Two privates in his company 
had a quarrel in the trenches, and nothing would do 
them but to fight it out on No Man's Land. The 
Germans were most appreciative and accommodating. 
Not only did they not molest the pugilists, but they 
cheered them, and actually fired the contents of their 
rifles in the air by way of a salute. The European 
War was, in fact, suspended in this particular section 
of the lines while two Irishmen settled their own little 
differences by a contest of fists. 

" Who will now say that the Germans are not sports- 
men ? " was the comment of the young English officer. 
There is, however, another and perhaps a shrewder 
view of the episode. It was taken, I have been told, 
by a sergeant of the company. "Yerra, come down 
out of that, ye pair of born fools," he called out to the 
fighters. "If ye had only a glimmer of sense ye'd 
see, so ye would, that 'tis playing the Gerrys' game 
ye are. Sure, there's nothing they'd like better than 
to see us all knocking blazes out of each other." But 
as regards the moral pointed by the officer, there must 
be, of course, many "sportsmen " among the millions 
of German soldiers ; though the opinion widely pre- 
vailing in the British Army is that they are more often 
treacherous fighters. Indeed, to their dirty practices 
is mainly to be ascribed the bitter personal animosity 
that occasionally mark the relations between the com- 
batants, when the fighting becomes most bloody and 
desperate, and — as happens at times in all wars — no 
quarter is given to those who allow none. 

In the wars of old between England and France, 
both sides were animated by a very fine sense of 



1 84 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

chivalry. Barere, one of the chief popular orators 
during the worst excesses of the French Revolution, 
induced the Convention to declare that no quarter was 
to be given to the English. "Soldiers of Liberty," 
he cried, "when victory places Englishmen at your 
mercy, strike ! " But the French troops absolutely 
refused to act upon the savage decree. The principle 
upon which both French and English acted during the 
Peninsular War was that of doing as little harm to 
one another as possible consistently with the winning 
of victory. Between the rank and file friendly feelings 
may be said, without any incongruity, to have existed. 
They were able, of their own accord, to come to certain 
understandings that tended to mitigate, to some extent, 
the hardships and even the dangers to which they 
were both alike exposed. One was that sentries at 
the outposts must not be fired on or surprised. Often 
no more than a space of twenty yards separated them, 
and when the order to advance was given to either 
Army the sentries of the other were warned to retire. 
Once a French sentry helped a British sentry to 
replace his knapsack so that he might more quickly 
fall back before the firing began. A remarkable 
instance of signalling between the opposing forces is 
mentioned by General Sir Charles Napier in his 
History of the Peninsular War. Wellington sent a 
detachment of riflemen to drive away some French 
troops occupying the top of a hill near Bayonne, and 
as they approached the enemy he ordered them to 
fire. "But," says Napier, "with a loud voice one of 
those soldiers replied, ' No firing,' and holding up the 
butt of his rifle tapped it in a peculiar way." This 
was a signal to the French and was understood by 
them — probably as a result of a mutual arrangement — 
to mean, "We must have the hill for a short time." 
"The French, who, though they could not maintain, 
would not relinquish the post without a fight if they 



RELATIONS BETWEEN TRENCHES 185 

had been fired upon, quietly retired," Napier writes; 
"and this signal would never have been made if the 
post had been one capable of a permanent defence, so 
well do veterans understand war and its proprieties." 

Throughout that long campaign the British and 
French recognised each other as worthy foemen, and 
they were both solicitous to maintain unstained the 
honour and dignity of arms. As the opposing forces 
lay resting before Lisbon for months, the advanced 
posts got so closely into touch that much friendly 
intercourse took place between them. French officers 
frequently asked for such little luxuries as cigars, 
coffee and stationery to be brought to them from 
Lisbon, which was held by the British, and their 
requests were always readily complied with. At the 
battle of Talavera, on July 28, 1809, the possession of 
a hill was fiercely contested all day. The weather 
was so intensely hot that the combatants were parched 
with thirst. At noon there was an almost entire cessa- 
tion of artillery and rifle fire, as if an informal truce 
had been suddenly come to, by a flash of intuition, 
and with one accord French and British rushed down 
to the rivulet at the foot of the hill to moisten their 
burning throats. "The men crowded on each side 
of the water's edge," says Napier. "They threw 
aside their caps and muskets, and chatted to each 
other in broken French and still more fragmentary 
English across the stream. Flasks were exchanged; 
hands shaken. Then the bugle and the rolling drum 
called the men back to their colours, and the fight 
awoke once more." 

Such amenities between combatants are very ancient 
— the Greeks and Trojans used to exchange presents 
and courtesies, in the intervals of fighting — and the 
early stages of this war seemed to afford a promise 
that they would be revived. The fraternising of the 
British and Germans at their first Christmas under 



186 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

arms, in 1914, will, perhaps, always be accounted as 
the most curious episode of the war. It was quite un- 
authorised by the higher command. The men them- 
selves, under the influence of the great Christian festival, 
brought about a suspension of hostilities at several 
points of the lines, and they availed themselves of the 
opportunity to satisfy their natural curiosity to see 
something more of each other than they could see 
through the smoke of battle with deadly weapons in 
their hands and hatred in their eyes. Each side had 
taken prisoners; but prisoners are "out of it," and 
therefore reduced to the level of non-combatants. The 
foeman in being appears in a very different light. He 
has the power to strike. You may have to kill him 
or you may be killed by him. So the British and the 
Germans, impelled in the main by a common feeling 
of inquisitiveness, met together, unarmed, in No 
Man's Land. There was some amicable conversation 
where they could make themselves understood to each 
other, which happened when a German was found 
who could speak a little English. Cigarettes and 
tunic-buttons were freely exchanged. But, for the 
most part, British and Germans stood, with arms 
folded across their breasts, and stared at each other 
with a kind of dread fascination. 

It never happened again. How could it possibly 
be repeated? The introduction of the barbaric ele- 
ments of "f rightfulness," hitherto confined to savage 
tribes at war, the use of such devilish inventions as 
poison gas and liquid fire, are due to the malignant 
minds of the German high command, and for them 
the German soldiers cannot be held accountable. But 
the native lowness of morality shown by so many of 
the German rank and file, their apparent insensitive- 
ness to ordinary humane instincts, the well-authenti- 
cated stories of their filthy and cruel conduct in the 
occupied districts, inevitably tended to harden and 



RELATIONS BETWEEN TRENCHES 187 

embitter their adversaries against them too. Of the 
instances of their treachery to Irish soldiers which 
have been brought to my notice, I will mention only 
two. One arose out of the "truce " of Christmas Day, 
1914, despite the goodwill of the occasion. The victim, 
Sergeant Timothy O'Toole, Leinster Regiment, first 
mentions that he took part in a game of football with 
the Germans, and then proceeds — 

" I was returning to my own trench unaccompanied about 
12.15 P- m - When I reached within fifteen paces I was sniped 
by a Hunnish swine, the bullet entering my back, penetrating 
my intestines. Following the example of Our Lord, I instantly 
forgave him, concluding he was only a black sheep, character- 
istic of any army or community, but I was labouring under 
a delusion. Within five minutes of being hit, I had quite a 
number around me, including officers and clergymen. I was 
so mortally wounded that the ' Padre ' administered the last 
rite of the Church on the spot. Four stretcher bearers came 
out for me. I noticed the white band and Red Cross on their 
arms. Immediately I was lifted up on the stretcher. Though 
I was semi-unconscious I remember the bullets beating the 
ground like hailstone on a March day. I was wounded again, 
this time the bullet going through the lower part of my back. 
Here two of my bearers got hit, Privates Melia and Peters. 
The former died in hospital immediately after. Naturally 
the two bearers instantly dropped the stretcher. I fell violently 
to the ground — nice medicine for a man wounded in the 
abdomen." 

"Thank Providence, I am still living," Sergeant 
O'Toole adds, "but a living victim of German atrocity 
and barbarism." In the other case a very gallant 
young officer of the Dublin Fusiliers, Lieutenant Louis 
G. Doran, lost his life on the Somme, October 23, 
1916, through the guile and falsehood of German 
soldiers. The circumstances are told in a letter 
written by Captain Louis C. Byrne to the father of 
Lieutenant Doran, Mr. Charles J. Doran of Blackrock, 
co. Dublin — 

"Believe me, Mr. Doran, I sympathise fully with you in 



1 88 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

your loss because I was your son's company commander and 
by his death I have lost one of the best officers in my company. 
We attacked a certain position and we had just got to it when 
some Germans put up their hands to surrender. Your son 
went out to take their surrender and they shot him through 
the heart and he died at once. My other three officers were 
also knocked out, and only myself and thirty-six men returned 
to headquarters after the battle. Still, we took the position 
owing to gallantry of men like your son. He died a noble 
and heroic death — no man could possibly wish for a better 
one. He told me he had just had a brother wounded, so your 
loss is double and words cannot express my sympathy with 
you. Your son was buried with the men in the position we 
took. It was impossible to bring his body down owing to 
heavy fire. I think it is what he would have liked best." 

The lady to whom Lieutenant Doran was engaged 
to be married kindly sent me a few extracts from his 
letters which convey something of his care and thought 
for his men. " Those I have seen from the men," she 
says, "amplify this from their own experience in ways 
which he would never dream of mentioning, he was 
always so modest about all he did." "I'm going to 
tell you what I would really love to get now and 
again," Lieutenant Doran wrote in one letter. "You 
see, we officers are never very hard up for grub, and 
I would much prefer to receive something for my men, 
who get very little in the way of luxuries or dainties. 
As you know, a platoon is split into four sections, 
and anything that I could divide into four parts 
amongst them would be most acceptable. For in- 
stance, four small tins of butter would be a great 
luxury, or a big cake — anything that gives them a 
change." In another he said: "As you say, there 
are always hungry soldiers to be found, and I often 
wish some of the presents I receive would only come 
together, as one cake is a useless thing among forty 
hungry men. The poor fellows have fairly rough 
fare as a rule, and sometimes not even much of that. 
One wonders how it is they keep so cheerful." The 



RELATIONS BETWEEN TRENCHES 189 

men, in turn, were most devoted to Lieutenant Doran. 
They would do anything to prevent a hair of his head 
being hurt. 

Generally speaking, feeling in the British Army is, 
however, extraordinarily devoid of that vindictiveness 
which springs from a deep sense of personal injury, 
and evokes, in turn, a desire for revenge which, were 
it shown, would, however lamentable, be not unnatural 
in many circumstances of this war. The Germans, in 
the mass, are regarded as having been dehumanised 
and transformed into a process of ruthless destruction. 
In any case, they are the enemy. As such, there is a 
satisfaction — nay, a positive delight — in sweeping 
them out of existence. That is war. But the rage 
for killing them is impersonal. Against the German 
soldier individually it may be said that, on the whole, 
there is no rancour. In fact, the British soldiers have 
a curiously detached and generous way of regarding 
their country's enemies. When the German soldier 
is taken prisoner, or picked up wounded, the British 
soldier is disposed, as a hundred thousand instances 
show, to treat him as a "pal " — to divide his food and 
share his cigarettes with him as he passes to the base. 

It is very noticeable how all the war correspondents, 
in their accounts of the taking of the village of 
Guinchy on the Somme by the Irish Division, dwelt 
on the chivalrous way in which the Irish treated 
their vanquished foes. Once the spirit of combative- 
ness is aroused in the Irish soldiers they hate the 
enemy like the black death to which they strive to 
consign them. But when the fury of battle has died 
down in victory there are none so soft and kindly 
to the beaten enemy. Surrender should always, of 
course, disarm hostility. No true soldier would 
decline to lower his bayonet when a foeman acknow- 
ledges defeat and places his life in his keeping. That 
is, after a fair and gallant fight on the part of the 



iqo THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

foeman It was because the Germans at Guinchy 
were vindictive in combat, and despicable when over- 
thrown, that the Irish acted with rare magnanimity 
in accepting their submission and sparing their lives. 

In that engagement the Irish made a characteristi- 
cally headlong dash for the enemy positions. Rifle 
and machine-gun fire was poured into them by the 
Germans up to the very last moment — until, in fact, 
they had reached the trenches ; and then, as they were 
about to jump in and bayonet and club their blood- 
thirsty foemen, they found them on their knees, with 
hands uplifted. The Irish were enraged at the sight. 
To think that men who had been so merciless should 
beg for mercy when their opponents were on top of 
them ! Were their comrades slain only a moment 
since to go unavenged? These thoughts passed 
rapidly through the minds of the Irish. As swiftly 
came the decision, worthy of high-souled men. An 
enemy on his knees is to them inviolable, not to be 
hurt or injured, however mean and low he may have 
proved himself to be. So the Irish bayonet, at the 
very breasts of the Germans, was turned aside; that 
was the right and proper thing to do, and it would not 
call for notice but that it shines with the light of 
chivalry in comparison with the black meanness and 
treachery of the Germans. 

In the gladiatorial fights for the entertainment of the 
people in ancient Rome the defeated combatant was 
expected to expose his throat to the sword of the victor, 
and any shrinking on his part caused the arena to ring 
with the angry shouts of the thousands of spectators : 
"Receive the steel." The way of the Irish at Guinchy 
was different, and perhaps the renunciation of their 
revenge was not the least magnificent act of a glorious 
day. 

"If we brained them on the spot, who could blame 
us? 'Tis ourselves that would think it no sin if it 



RELATIONS BETWEEN TRENCHES 191 

was done by any one else," said a private of the 
Dublin Fusiliers. "Let me tell you," he went on, 
u what happened to myself. As I raced across the 
open with my comrades, jumping in and out of shell 
holes, and the bullets flying thick around us, laying 
many the fine boy low, I said to myself, this is going 
to be a fight to the last gasp for those of us that get to 
the Germans. As I came near to the trenches I picked 
a man out for myself. Straight in front of me he was, 
leaning out of the trench, and he with a rifle firing 
away at us as if we were rabbits. I made for him 
with my bayonet ready, determined to give him what 
he deserved, when — what do you think? — didn't he 
notice me and what I was up to. Dropping his rifle, 
he raised himself up in the trench and stretched out 
his hands towards me. What could you do in that 
case, but what I did? Sure you wouldn't have the 
heart to strike him down, even if he were to kill you. 
I caught sight of his eyes, and there was such a fright- 
ened and pleading look in them that I at once lowered 
my rifle. I could no more prod him with my bayonet 
than I could a toddling child. I declare to the Lord 
the state of the poor devil almost made me cry. I 
took him by the hand, saying, ' You're my prisoner.' 
I don't suppose he understood a word of what I said, 
but he clung to me, crying, ' Kamerad ! kamerad ! ' 
I was more glad than ever then that I hadn't the blood 
of him on my soul. 'Tis a queer thing to say, maybe, 
of a man who acted like that; but, all the same, he 
looked a decent boy every bit of him. I suppose the 
truth of it is this : we soldiers, on both sides, have to 
go through such terrible experiences that there is no 
accounting for how we may behave. We might be 
devils, all out, in the morning, and saints, no less, in 
the evening." 

The relations between the trenches include even 
attempts at an exchange of repartee. The wit, as may 



192 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

be supposed, in such circumstances, is invariably 
ironic and sarcastic. My examples are Irish, for the 
reason that I have had most to do with Irish soldiers, 
but they may be taken as fairly representative of the 
taunts and pleasantries which are often bandied across 
No Man's Land. The Germans holding part of their 
line in Belgium got to know that the British trenches 
opposite them were being held by an Irish battalion. 
"Hello, Irish," they cried; "how is King Carson 
getting on ? and have you got Home Rule yet ? " 
The company sergeant-major, a big Tipperary man, 
was selected to make the proper reply, and in order 
that it might be fully effective he sent it through a 
megaphone which the colonel was accustomed to use 
in addressing the battalion on parade. "Hello, 
Gerrys," he called out. "I'm thinking it isn't in- 
formation ye want, but divarshion; but 'tis informa- 
tion I'll be after giving ye, all the same. Later on 
we'll be sending ye some fun that'll make ye laugh 
at the other side of ye'r mouths. The last we heard 
of Carson he was prodding the Government like the 
very devil to put venim into their blows at ye, and 
more power to his elbow while he's at that work, say 
we. As for Home Rule, we mean to have it, and 
we'll get it, please God, when ye're licked. Put that 
in ye're pipes and smoke it." 

Of all the horrible features of the war, surely the 
most heartrending is the fate of the wounded lying 
without succour in the open between the opposing 
lines, owing to the inability of the higher command 
on both sides to agree to an arrangement for a short 
suspension of hostilities after an engagement so that 
the stricken might be brought in. Prone in the mud 
and slush they lie, during the cruel winter weather, 
with the rain pouring down upon them, their moans 
of agony in the darkness of the night mingling with 
the cold blasts that howl around them. But, thanks 



RELATIONS BETWEEN TRENCHES 193 

to the loving kindness of man for his fellow, even in 
war, these unfortunate creatures are not deserted. 
British soldiers without number have voluntarily crept 
out into No Man's Land to rescue them, often under 
murderous fire from the enemy. Many of the Victoria 
Crosses won in this war have been awarded for con- 
spicuous gallantry displayed in these most humane 
and chivalrous enterprises. 

One of the most uplifting stories I have heard was 
told me by a captain of the Royal Irish Fusiliers. 
Out there in front of the trench held by his company 
lay a figure in khaki writhing in pain and wailing 
for help. "Will no one come to me? " he cried in a 
voice broken with anguish. He had been disabled 
in the course of a raid on the German trenches the 
night before by a battalion which was relieved in 
the morning. These appeals of his were like stabs to 
the compassionate hearts of the Irish Fusiliers. Several 
of them told the captain they could stand it no longer, 
and must go out to the wounded man. If they were 
shot in the attempt, what matter? It happened that 
a little dog was then making himself quite at home in 
both the British and German trenches at this part of 
the lines. He was a neutral; he took no sides; he 
regularly crossed from one to the other, and found in 
both friends to give him food and a kind word, with 
a pat on the head. The happy thought came to the 
captain to make a messenger of the dog. So he wrote, 
"May we take our wounded man in?", tied the note 
to the dog's tail, and sent him to the German trenches. 
The message was in English, for the captain did not 
know German, and had to trust to the chance of the 
enemy being able to read it. In a short time the dog 
returned with the answer. It was in English, and it 
ran: "Yes; you can have five minutes." So the 
captain and a man went out with a stretcher and 
brought the poor fellow back to our lines. 

H 



i 9 4 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

Some of these understandings are come to by a sort 
of telepathic suggestion inspired by the principle of 
"live and let live," however incongruous that may 
seem in warfare. As an instance, recuperative work, 
such as the bringing up of food to the firing lines is 
often allowed to go on in comparative quietude. 
Neither side cares to stand on guard in the trenches 
with an empty stomach. Often, therefore, firing is 
almost entirely suspended in the early hours of the 
night, when it is known that rations are being dis- 
tributed. That is not the way everywhere and always. 
A private of the Royal Irish Regiment told me that 
what he found most aggravating in the trenches was 
the fusillading by the Germans when the men were 
getting ready a bit to eat. "I suppose," he remarked, 
"'twas the smell of the frying bacon that put their 
dandher up." But even defensive work has been 
allowed to proceed without interference, when carried 
on simultaneously by both sides. Heavy rain, follow- 
ing a hard frost, turned the trenches in the Ypres dis- 
trict into a chaos of ooze and slime. "How deep is 
it with you ? " a German soldier shouted across to the 
British. "Up to our knees, bedad," was the reply. 
"You are lucky fellows. We're up to our belts in it," 
said the German. Driven to desperation by their 
hideous discomfort, the Germans soon after crawled 
up on to their parapets and sat there to dry and stretch 
their legs, calling out, "Kamerads, don't shoot; don't 
shoot, kamerads ! " The reply of the Irish was to 
get out of their trenches and do likewise. On another 
occasion, in the broad daylight, unarmed parties of 
men on both sides, by a tacit agreement, set about 
repairing their respective barbed-wire entanglements. 
They were no more than fifteen or twenty yards apart. 
The wiring-party on the British side belonged to the 
Munster Fusiliers. Being short of mallets, one of the 
Munsters coolly walked across to the enemy and said, 



RELATIONS BETWEEN TRENCHES 195 

" Good-morrow, Gerrys. Would any of ye be so kind 
as to lend me the loan of a hammer ? " The Germans 
received him with smiles, but as they did not know 
English they were unable to understand what he 
wanted until he made it clear by pantomimic action, 
when he was given the hammer "with a heart and a 
half," as he put it himself. Having repaired the 
defences of his own trench, he brought back the 
hammer to the Germans, and thought he might give 
them "a bit of his mind," without offence, as they 
did not know what he was saying. "Here's your 
hammer, and thanks," said he. "High hanging to 
the man that caused this war — ye know who I mean — 
and may we be all soon busily at work hammering 
nails into his coffin." 

Many touching stories might be told of the sym- 
pathy which unites the combatants when they find 
themselves lying side by side, wounded and helpless, 
in shell holes and copses, or on the open plain after 
an engagement. The ruling spirit which animates 
the soldier in the fury of the fight is, as it seems to 
me, that of self-preservation. He kills or disables so 
that he may not be killed or disabled himself. Besides 
that, each side are convinced they are waging a purely 
defensive war. So it is that hostility subsides, once 
the sense of danger is removed, and each side sees in 
its captives not devils or barbarians, but fellow-men. 
Especially among the wounded, British and German, 
do these sentiments prevail, as they lie together on the 
field of battle. In a dim way they pitifully regard 
each other as hapless victims caught in the vortex of 
the greatest of human tragedies, or set against each 
other by the ambitions of rulers and statesmen in 
which they have no part. They try to help each other, 
to ease each other's sufferings, to stanch each other's 
wounds, to give each other comfort in their sore 
distress. 



ig6 THE IRISH ON THE SOMME 

"Poor devil, unnerved by shell shock," was the 
comment passed as a wounded German was being 
carried by on a stretcher sobbing as if his heart would 
break. It was not the roar of the artillery and the 
bursting of high explosives that had unnerved him, 
but the self-sacrifice of a Dublin Fusilier, who, in suc- 
couring him, lost his own life. At the hospital the 
German related that, on recovering his senses after 
being shot, he found the Dublin Fusilier trying to 
stanch the wound in his shattered leg, from which 
blood was flowing profusely. The Irishman undid 
the field-dressing, consisting of bandage and anti- 
septic preparation, which he had wrapped round his 
own wound, and applied it to the German, as he 
appeared to be in danger of bleeding to death. Before 
the two men were discovered by a British stretcher 
party, the Dublin Fusilier had passed away. He 
developed blood-poisoning through his exposed 
wound. The German, on hearing the news, broke 
down and wept bitterly. 

Reconciliation between wounded foemen is happily 
a common occurrence on the stricken plain. The 
malignant roar of the guns may still be in their ears, 
and they may see around them bodies battered and 
twisted out of all human shape. All the more are they 
anxious to testify that there is no fury in their hearts 
with each other, and that their one wish is to make 
the supreme parting with words of reconciliation and 
prayers on their lips. I have had from a French 
officer, who was wounded in a cavalry charge early in 
the war, an account of a pathetic incident which took 
place close to where he lay. Among his companions 
in affliction were two who were far gone on the way to 
death. One was a private in the Uhlans, and the 
other a private in the Royal Irish Dragoons. The 
Irishman got, with a painful effort, from an inside 
pocket of his tunic a rosary beads which had a crucifix 






RELATIONS BETWEEN TRENCHES 197 

attached to it. Then he commenced to mutter to him- 
self the invocations to the Blessed Virgin of which the 
Rosary is composed. "Hail, Mary! full of grace, 
the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou among women, 
and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus." The 
German, lying huddled close by, stirred with the 
uneasy movements of a man weak from pain and loss 
of blood on hearing the murmur of prayer, and, 
looking round in a dazed condition, the sight of the 
beads in the hands of his fellow in distress seemed 
to recall to his mind other times and different circum- 
stances — family prayers at home somewhere in Bava- 
ria, and Sunday evening devotions in church, for he 
made, in his own tongue, the response to the invoca- 
tion : " Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners 
now at the hour of our death. Amen." So the voices 
intermingled in address and prayer — the rapt ejacula- 
tions of the Irishman, the deep guttural of the German 
— getting weaker and weaker, in the process of dis- 
solution, until they were hushed on earth for evermore. 
War has outwardly lost its romance, with its colour 
and pageantry. It is bloody, ugly and horrible. Yet 
romance is not dead. It still survives, radiant and 
glowing, in the heroic achievements of our soldiers, 
and in the tender impulses of their hearts. 



THE END 



PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY RICHARD CLAY & SONS, LIMITED, 
BRUNSWICK ST., STAMFORD ST., S.E., AND BUNGAY, SUFFOLK. 



THE IRISH AT THE FRONT 

By MICHAEL MacDONAGH 

FROM THE REVIEWS OF THE FIRST SERIES 

Westminster Gazette. — " Mr. MacDonagh has crammed into 
a small volume an almost incredible number of thrilling stories 
of great deeds, whether of collective dash and daring and 
endurance or of individual heroism. He has found his material 
in the letters of officers and men and the conversation of those 
who have come home, as well as from the records compiled at 
regimental depots; and he has utilised it skilfully, avoiding 
too frequent quotation and giving his reader a connected and 
fluent narrative that is of absorbing interest. He gives us 
vivid pictures of the retreat from Mons — of the Irish Guards 
receiving their baptism of fire; of the Connaught Rangers' 
part in the first stand that was made (' It was a grand time 
we had,' one of them said, ' and I wouldn't have missed it 
for lashin's of money ! ') ; of the Dublins at Cambrai, where 
they went into the fray in a way that is well described as 
• uproariously and outrageously Irish,' after singing all the 
Fenian songs for which they had time; and of the Munsters 
who harnessed themselves cheerfully, for lack of horses, to 
the guns they had captured from the Germans. He tells us 
of the green flag that Corporal Cunningham bought from a 
pedlar in London, and that the Irish Guards have since followed 
to the gates of death on a score of fields ; of the Irish Rifles 
rallying to the ' view-hallo ' that Lieutenant Graham gave 
them on a French newsboy's horn; of the glorious sacrifices 
of the Dublins and the Munsters at the Gallipoli landings; 
and of the desperate resistance at Loos, where, as the Brigadier 
said to his men when it was over, ' It was the London Irish 
who helped to save a whole British Army Corps.' From first 
to last it is a glorious story of almost incredible deeds." 

Star. — " It is an amazing story of incredible gallantry and 
fantastic daring, gay with humour and poignant with pathos. 
I defy anybody except a tapeworm to read it without a lump 
in the throat and tears in the eyes." — James Douglas. 

Bound in cloth, Is. 3d. net. Postage 4d. extra. 



THE IRISH AT THE FRONT 



SOME FURTHER REVIEWS 
The Times.—"' It is heroic deeds entering into their tradi- 
tions that give life to nations,' writes Mr. John Redmond in 
his preface to Mr. Michael MacDonagh's The Irish at the Front 
The phrase sums up the aim and temper of the book which 
is designed to bring home to English, and especially to Irish 
readers the magnificent service of Irish soldiers in the war 
and the sanctity of the cause for which they fight It is an 
appeal to Irishmen not to let the national effort flag for the 
sake of the highest interests both of humanity and of 'Ireland 
In a vivid and earnest popular style Mr. MacDonagh puts 
flesh and blood on the dry bones of the official dispatches by 
drawing on regimental records and the narratives of officers 
and men. The letters of Irish soldiers give a lively impression 
of battle scenes, and add greatly to the spirit of the volume ■ 
but many of the most striking testimonies to the achieve- 
ments of the Irish regiments come from comrades who are not 
Irish. It is indisputable that the traditional military valour 
of the Irish race has been brilliantly sustained in this war 
not only by the old Regular battalions, but by the Irishmen 
of the New Army." 

Irish Times.—" Page after page uncovers the story of a 
heroism such as few of us had dreamt of— a story told with 
the understanding of one who is an Irishman of Nationalist 
sympathies, intensely proud of his country, and of the form 
of faith which is predominant in Ireland. We do not regard 
ourselves as easily giving visible expression to our feelings, 
but we must confess that we found the tears coming to our 
eyes again and again as we read the magnificent, yet sad 
story. Whether it was the valour of the Munsters in their 
retreat from Mons, or the headlong impetuosity of the Irish 
Guards at the Battle of the Rivers, or the football charge of 
the London Irish at Loos, or the glorious but ghastly tale 
of the 29th Division at Beach V, or the hardly less awful 
landing of the 10th Division at Suvla Bay, it was the same. 
We were overcome, yet filled with pride, at the glory and the 
sorrow of it all. The old spirit is still in the soldiers of Ireland. 
The shifting scenes of the narrative tell us that the imperturba- 
bility and daring which belonged to the Irish of past battles 
are seen as strongly marked as ever in the hurriedly trained 
units of the New Armies." 

Freeman's Journal. — " A vivid human narrative of the war, 
at once a fine contribution to the history of the great deeds of 
our day and a tribute to the heroism and sacrifices of the Irish." 



HODDER & STOUGHTON : London, New York and Toronto. 



SOME RECENT WAR BOOKS 



WITH A PREFACE BY RUDYARD KIPLING 

BRITAIN AND THE WAR. By Andre Chevrillon. 
With a Preface by Rudyard Kipling. Cloth, 5/- net. 

J. P. BANG 

HURRAH AND HALLELUJAH : The Spirit of New 
Germanism. A Documentation. By J. P. Bang, Pro- 
fessor of Theology in the University of Copenhagen. 
Second Edition. Cloth, 5/- net. 

CAPTAIN PHILIPPE MILLET 

COMRADES IN ARMS : Vignettes from the Trenches, 
the Artillery Zone, or Behind the Lines. By Captain 
Philippe Millet. Translated by Lady Frazer, 
Cloth, 3/6 net. 

JOHANNES JORQENSEN 

FALSE WITNESS: The Authorised Translation of 
" Klokke Roland." By Johannes Jorgensen. With 
Illustrations. Cloth, 3/6 net. 

L. MOKVELD 

THE GERMAN FURY IN BELGIUM : The Personal 
Experiences of a Netherlands Journalist during Four 
Months with the German Armies. By L. Mokveld, 
War Correspondent of Dc Tyd. Cloth, 3/6 net. 

JACQUES BAINVILLE 

ITALY AND THE WAR. By Jacques Bainville. 
Cloth, 3/6 net. 

Ch. DE VISSCHER 

BELGIUM'S CASE : A Juridical Enquiry. By Ch. de 
Visscher, Professor of Law at the University of 
Ghent. Cloth, 3/6 net. 

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